1-800-HELLFIRE
by bulelo
Summary: Being a mafia arsonist is a commitment, but being a twin is for life—and ain't this life a twisted one? [SI/OC as Chrome's sister, dark!Tsuna, cover by me] HIATUS
1. Chapter 1: Everyone Dies

**A/N:** Hi, I fell rapidly back into an old fandom. It's great, welcome to the show. Reviews or PMs would be helpful and encouraging! Summer school is gross, so updates vary. If you like what you see, please check out my other OC-inserts, such as "The Inglorious Wonder Woman" (Harry Potter).

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but Dora/Mui. Italian is in bold!

 **Warning:** mentions of skin insecurity

 **Edit: 10/22/17**

* * *

"She decides God is no good, but he must exist, he must exist so she can hold him accountable."

—Ada Limón, from "The Echo Sounder", _Lucky Wreck_

* * *

Chapter 1: _Everyone Dies_

Before Mui and Nagi, there was Amadora and Sepira.

And after Amadora and Sepira, there was _you._

And you deserve an apology, because "Dora" owes you, _everyone_ , for the terrible things she couldn't prevent and all that the "Mui" after her will finish with an angel of suffering. After all, she is the reason you are here in the first place, waiting out your suffering in a backwater, underground laboratory; surrounded by the people you once called "family"; remembering the other six lives through which you barely lived and miserably died. You are a testimony of the Mafia's failures; you are her sins.

Put the apology somewhere close to your heart, so that no one can take it back. Keep it under your pillow, to warm you when nothing else can. Hold it to the light, just like that, and see the bulletproof dream through the sheen that only one widowed mafioso by the name of Giotto can recite, word for word, in Italian, English, Japanese, _tears._

Dora wants to start from the top, all the way down to the fitting end, because someone needs to know that she didn't want to die before her **cielo** , the better part of her.

* * *

A curly green-haired monster visits Sicily in the dead of night, bringing with it arson. By human standards, Amadora Nero is 13 years-old when she burns her neighbor's mansion down.

It is her first time playing with fire, and she nearly dies from handling the gasoline; had it not been for her Lighting flames, which decided to manifest right there, her brown skin would've suffered more than just a couple of minor burns.

 _But_ , she thinks, _every burn is worth watching all of his worldly possessions melt into oblivion._

That, and fire is kind of pretty—scratch that, _really_ pretty. It deals with her problems instantaneously, and almost always matches her headwraps.

To be fair, Giallo Estraneo is a big-time snitch too; people should be lining up to thank her for running him out of town.

Her personal reason? Nobody feels her sister up and gets away with it—not even if they control most of the city's criminal syndicates.

Sometimes, she thanks God, and the Pope, and whoever else is out there, for her golden awakening, but then she remembers that there is no heaven for her kind.

Or at least, their associate Kawahira is convinced that nothing human can apply to _them_.

A few days after this incident, Sepira Nero comes storming into the room with poison on her tongue and a lecture on her backhand slap. After a massage or two though, she isn't angry for long, and even offers Dora a tight "you did good" hug. In truth, whether she approves of her little sister's pyromania or not, Sepira knows that the Nero twins always stick up for one another.

"Stop putting yourself in danger!" She cries over the wine and cheese. "You're so bad."

"I thought you like them bad!"

* * *

No matter how oblivious someone is, they can always tell who is who between the twins; they are identical in everything but palette; two different sides of a coin; black and white. Of course, occasionally, there will be someone who asks stupid questions, like _do you have different fathers_ or _how long did it take you to burn your skin this dark_ or _can you still read each other's minds if she's black and you're white,_ but they take it in graceful stride.

Yet occasionally, just occasionally, Dora feels ashamed of her skin and hair.

People don't exactly help the 18 year-old's case, particularly the older ones and fellow students. Dinner parties can become rounds of comparison, academy a popularity contest. Even Kawahira, with his permanent neutrality, looks more to Sepira for guidance.

Thus, she equates her features with failure. The shame runs, and boy does it run deep, so much so that every shooting star, every birthday candle, every crystal keepsake is called upon, wished upon.

 _I want her pale skin. I want her dark blue locks. I want her intellect._

 _I want to be Sepira._

Burning down drug warehouses and weapons factories becomes therapy rather than work.

* * *

Maybe the arsonist is 24 when Sepira suddenly expects child, her rounding belly carefully hidden beneath her long white dress. Hours after the revelation that Dora is going to be a **zia** , and the potential baby daddy drops in through the window, flaming (ha) yellow-orange hair and all. The guy even has a cloak for the whole tall, dark, and handsome look.

But seriously? That's _her_ door. Now Dora has to enter through the roof.

She gets punched in the nose by her twin for asking too many questions; the young man, and future king of the world, blushes from head to toe. How cute!

"Soooo that means he's not taken. Nice."

" _Dora_!"

"So if he didn't do it, _who did_? Who is the _real_ father Seppie? Tell me!"

She has to hand it to Giotto though: he can really get down to business, and has a mean knack for vigilante ass-kicking and inspiring speeches about justice. She almost wants to believe him herself, when he talks about a world without crime, about an ultimate dream, but she lets Sepira handle the talking. Sometimes, it's amusing to visualize her sister being unable to say no to a pretty face—not that she would deny him anything either. The man is definitely hot stuff, with or without the Sky flames at his temple.

He will make a fine line of successors; she doesn't need foresight to know this.

* * *

Giotto comes over too often for dinner, and it makes Dora uneasy that her twin buys his goody-goody act so much. Because why would such a widely-admired figure come to their house every day if he wasn't here for something? They do host his business receptions, but there must be something to it.

 _This guy can't be for real. Oh, please be for real—wait no, yes, nooo._

Plus, his smiles are borderline scary, their longevity so endless, she wonders how his face hasn't cracked from all that cheer. Nobody's _that_ happy, and whenever she cracks a joke, he laughs like she's the most charming thing in the room; gross, it has to be fake. Sure, she can be flirtatious and downright alluring, but Dora would sooner shove dynamite up some aristocrat's ass than play a scale on the piano.

"Seppie, help me." She rolls around in bed, secretly listening in on Giotto's speech. He is trying to win the favor of some big cheeses in the speech hall. What? Don't give her that look. The man has a way with words. "I'm not even that funny. What does he want from me?"

"Your loyalty? Your friendship?" her sister supplies. She is the spitting image of patient frustration, but her younger twin thinks that she's keeping something from her too, hmm hmm. "Look, if he wanted something, he would've already made a move. Just admit that he's one of the good guys. You could really learn a thing or two."

Dora ceases her movement, propping a cheek on her hand and contemplating the perspective. She comes to the conclusion that her sister is going to be the toughest parent ever to bypass. "I absolutely hate it when you make sense. Okay, what do I do then?"

Barely a moment later and she suddenly rises from the bed, clapping her hands together like she's finished devising her latest fireproof plan: pearly whites out and gunpowder loaded. "Nicknames! Friends give each other nicknames right?"

"Poor Giotto."

"Giotto… Giotto…"

"I should've never proposed—"

"I got it!" she exclaims. " _Giozo_! Like bozo with Giotto! He's always such a chump, this is perfect."

" **Dio santo** , someone save him—"

The next time Dora sees him, she christens the poor mafioso with a full kiss on the lips and a bear hug; his face promptly erupts and his guardians laugh all the way home.

* * *

The Tri-ni-set is divided and an alliance comes into existence a year after baby Lucy is born; Dora designates herself babysitter and Sepira's #1 supporter.

Vongola, Simon, Estraneo, Bovino, Cavallone, Superbi. Multiple Famiglia sign a pact towards peace. Sepira also founds the Giglio Nero Famiglia; much to her chagrin, her younger sister designs the emblem. They both get it tattooed under their right eyes in the brightest orange ink possible.

Personally, Dora thinks they got the best set of rings too; only "Giozo" would name his clan after seafood. He laughs his sweet, airy chuckle when she starts sending him clam-themed gifts every holiday. In exchange, she receives hundreds of "Mare" sea drawings, to which she pleads "please no more water."

Sometimes, when he's not looking, she'll just sit there and admire how he looks in a suit and tie. The ballroom is big enough, Giotto surely won't notice her watching his pretty hands move as he passionately speaks, or the calm smile that graces his lips whenever someone agrees with him, or the way his hair catches the sunlight. Cozarto Simon declares somewhere over her right shoulder "ah, young love!" and Dora deliberately backs up into his foot with her heel.

When Giotto finally spots her, she is delighted when he waves his signature shy wave and makes a beeline towards her alone. The familiarity and acceptance makes Dora feel less like a second-class citizen and more like a star when she stands on the stage next to her golden twin.

"Thank you all for coming tonight. As you may have heard, the Sicilian ring has been—"

* * *

He gets his cloak all wet protecting her groceries one spring shower, and she decides that the "Wet Look" ranks in her top ten, next to "Sultry Gaze" and "Mafia Boss." Giotto mentions visiting Japan on the way home, with its cherry blossoms and summer fireworks; she mentions that the slightly opened yukatas and seafood must be shared with a partner in crime like him.

* * *

"I thought we were going to leave humanity to its own devices," Dora starts one day in the parlor room. Not unkindly, like her usual inability to forgive and forget, but with all the caution a Lightning guardian can offer its Primo; that, and she has a two-faced checkerboard of a Japanese demon breathing down her neck. "Kawahira is unhappy."

"Kawahira is always unhappy," Sepira retorts. "How much did he pay you to bother me this time?"

"Ehhh," she feigns. Seers are scary. "Okay fine, like three times my salary? I'm just saving up for Lucy. I want to buy her a German dollhouse, those things don't grow on trees."

"Neither does honesty, apparently." Sepira rolls her eyes. She sits by a window overlooking the training grounds, sighing in contentment as she sews their crest onto her white mushroom hat.

Every day, the same sunny seat, the same loving gaze upon her people. The newest recruits are loyal young men and women with hearts of gold, the passion for social change running through their veins; reeled in by the one of brightest Skies to walk the earth.

"Nothing either of you says will change my mind. I want to live with the humans, Dora. My own _daughter_ is proof that it will work. We will find greater purpose than living in fear of extinction and war."

For a moment, Giotto's smiling face comes to mind, close enough to touch the sun, and even the cynical arsonist is fooled, seeing the rainbow, the dream, the colorful life the Mafia could perhaps manifest: coexistence. _Peace._ She takes one look into her sister's baby blue eyes, and there is no yesterday, no tomorrow; only the present by her side.

"I see my dearest Seppie has been taking lessons from Giozo. That charisma almost seared off my vagin—"

" _Dora_ , filter!"

* * *

Sometimes, Dora likes to make life a little exciting (harder), so she climbs onto Giotto's back as he trains his stamina and climbs up a mountain with his bare hands. Needless to say, she had a great view and he prayed silently for his future.

* * *

She is probably 27 when she learns from Kawahira that she can't have children.

"Anovulation." He simply states, like this one medical term is supposed to tell her why her body decided to bail out on her plans of _family_ and _legacy_ and _happiness_. Maybe Dora burned down one too many houses? Was it the petty theft from five years back? Accidentally killed an innocent? Invisible injury to the uterus? Did one of her enemies become a witch doctor?

 _No, you're just an incomplete woman. You'll never be like Sepira. You'll never have a Lucy of your own._

Around this time, Giotto gives her possibly the worst and best pep talk of her life.

"Go away Giozo. I don't want to hear it, I'm not a charity case," she sniffs. Why did Kawahira have to go and tell everyone, especially _him_? The river water looks more appealing than usual around her bare feet. She never had an affinity for water, but who knows? Maybe if she just—

"I've always wondered, why arson?" He turns his sunset smile to her and puts a warm hand on her back, rubbing circles down a weary, hunched spine. His comfort is never unwelcome, and she hates how her body leans into his touch. "You don't get off on it, but you like to watch things burn. It's so fascinating."

"Honestly, what's it to you whether I 'get off on it' or not?" Dora isn't sure what to make of the mafioso right now, miffed by his intimacy; it's like he's had to deal with her all these years and got _good at it_. "Like you even understand the first thing about pyromaniacs, ya twat. Gonna take me to jail once I confess? Has that always been your plan?"

"You're not a criminal, Dora," he says.

She scoffs and throws her hands up. What is with him today? "Oh, so now you have the answers to all my problems? Then do tell, what am I?"

"You're fire, baby." He even makes the finger-gun and _bang!_ sound.

 _That's new_ , she thinks before breaking a rib laughing. Or crying. Or both. She's so shocked; he's managed to trivialize all of her worries so positively, she almost can't remember what they are.

 _Almost._

"Truthfully, you do our communities great service in taking down the crime rings. And no one handles a flamethrower like you do, so I stand by what I said."

"Absolutely terrible." She dabs at her eyes. "Where did you pick this stuff up from?"

"Only the best."

She will still cry every time she sees tiny socks and lacy strollers, but Giotto seems to always have a handkerchief lying around. While she blows her nose, she tells him about the time she burned down her neighbor's house, and the other time she used a grenade, and the other...

* * *

Some months after her newfound vulnerability, and she does get a baby… kitten!

She finds him in a pile of dead tuna fish, feasting upon the rot and throwing up like a lightweight. Her clothes have ashes on them and her hair is greased back, but she still produces some kind of cleanliness from her back pocket. In a stolen doily, his body is carried into the house, held to the furnace and warmed back to life. The feeling of that tiny soul between her burned palms makes her think twice about ever setting fire to the world again… for like five seconds.

She names him **Tonno** because she's so creative (cynical). Giotto later apologizes to the cat for her.

In a year's time, they are the most dynamic duo on the block; a spiteful arsonist and her fat tabby against all odds. Before every job, when she gets down on one knee and kisses the Mare ring around her neck, her baby jumps into her backpack and makes room for himself among the wires and powders. On occasion, she would be a moment late in delivering the final blow, letting the cat out of the bag instead of the flamethrower. Many frustrated groans and furious scratches later, and another organized crime circle is up in flames, green sparks spreading across the ground.

Just a girl and her pussy. The men will never know what burned them.

* * *

Ultimately, it is Giotto's right-hand man, G., who presents Dora with a wedding ring. Sick of his boss's indecisiveness, he thrusts the ring into her chest and storms off to bother Lampo, mumbling something like "too old for this." She calls out to his retreating form that she doesn't like the color, but she pockets the jewelry anyway, the lie leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Soon after, Giotto comes barrelling into the area in embarrassment and immediately recognizes the resigned look on her face.

She takes his gloved hand and presses the ring back into his palm. "I have a sister complex," she blurts.

"She was our matchmaker."

"I have an obsessive headwrap collection."

"As long as you are comfortable."

"I burn things for a living."

"Keep doing it."

"I'm not human."

"I believe in aliens."

"I can't get pregnant."

"I don't want children."

He makes her look him in the eye, even as she tries to shove him aside and hide away. "You don't get it! I can't give you what you need. You have no future with me."

"And I might die tomorrow, but I still love you. You are all I need."

Sepira finds them that evening on a lone stone bench in the garden, somewhere between the dusk and stars, learning, listening, loving. To Dora's utmost delight, her fiancé thinks "anovulation" is a stupid word too, for loss.

* * *

It is in the most painful moments, when a bullet rips out her gut and her sister sings their broken Italian lullaby, that Dora appreciates her skin. For once, Sepira looks haggard and ghastly, and she selfishly adores how even at death's door, her own complexion retains its dark glow.

"I was supposed to die first," her older twin cries, as its other half bleeds out into the cobblestone.

"Please… feed Tonno when… you get home," Dora mumbles. "I left… the food in… the gray… cabinet…" The words break apart on her lips, flaking like the blood down her chin. Her head goes slack against an erratic heartbeat, the rhythm she protected from gunfire. Someone gave away the location of Giglio Nero's leader; of course they were set up, on her wedding day of all times. "Bury me… with my rings…"

"Shh shh, save your breath, my **fulmine**. Y-you will feed him with me. No one is b-being buried. It's okay. Everything will be okay. Giotto is coming."

Sepira is a liar; nothing is okay. She tries so hard to make this painless, her Sky flames burning into Dora's abdomen like the light of a strong kerosene lamp, but she is no healing touch, no Sun. It will all be over soon, and she knows that Giotto will not come in time.

"Do we… get a heaven… **sorellona**?" Dora hasn't called her that in years, or asked such a fruitless question.

One kiss, two kisses are pressed into a brown palm, the only clean skin. "It is a place on earth with you."

"Learned… that from… Giozo... always had a… way with… words…"

"No no no shh, be quiet **sorellina**. You must stay. Stay with me. I don't want to live in a world without you."

"Everyone… dies…" The arm falls limp against a red side. "At least…"

 _I died for you_ goes unsaid.

In a back alleyway, surrounded by the worst criminals in industrial Italian society, near a broken water pipe and some dozen rotting turnips, before the love of her life can say goodbye, Amadora Nero takes one last breath in her sister's arms.

* * *

Centuries later, in modern day Namimori, Japan, "Mui" is born the brown twin again. Just _peachy_.

* * *

 **Italian Vocabulary:** cielo (sky), zia (aunt), Dio santo (for God's sake), Tonno (tuna), fulmine (lightning), sorellona (big sister), sorellina (little sister)

 **Question:** Can you guess who the "you" in the beginning is?


	2. Chapter 2: I'm Gonna Burn Your House

**A/N:** An earlier update! Thank you to everyone who dropped by, I was blushing all the way. Also, reviewer _sousie_ guessed the mystery "you" from the previous chapter, kufufu. I imagine that Mui and Nagi start off happy and energized before the solemnity and abuse sets in. The title of this chapter comes from the song "Sleep Deprived" by LÉON.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but Mui. Japanese is in bold!

 **Edit: 10/22/17**

* * *

"Your heart is the size of a fist because you need it to fight."

—Lora Mathis

* * *

Chapter 2: " _I'm Gonna Burn Your House"_

When the trees have shed all of their leaves and the earth is wet with snow, Sato Takane screams and drops her first baby on its head.

There is this quiet, sickening _crack_ as the body rolls over the tile and stops before a horrified nurse. The new mother's feet almost bury holes into the mattress as she hysterically cries and scrambles to protect the second child in her arms (from what, exactly). The baby begins to wail too, as though she can feel the fallen one's pain.

Mui should've died then and there, but with a spark of green and one nurse's quick thinking, she is brought home in the same day, albeit reluctantly. In the future, she will come to know her savior as one Sawada Nana, and this incident as the first time mother rejects her.

"How dare you fail to tell me that your grandfather is a **kurombo**! I would've never married—"

* * *

Curious amethyst eyes, pale skin, and a tight grip are the first things that welcome Mui into her new life.

She and Nagi are one going on two and quite enamored with each other, always reaching out to touch their counterpart's face or hair or bib. Their shrieks and giggles can even be heard from next door; the elderly neighbors, the Michibi couple, insist that Takane and her husband Saizo let "the dear little angels" come by and play. They drop off a tangerine a day and ask that the fruit be delivered as blessings, but under a jealous mother's wrath, they wind up in the communal garbage all the same.

Frankly, Takane is unnerved by these developments, from the fact that the twins occupy themselves with nothing but one another to their popularity in the neighborhood. She laments over the money spent on untouched blocks and dolls, the toys left discarded in the apartment corner along with the weekly toddler magazines _Nana_ sends over. The retired nurse is too nosy for her own good; so what if she has a kid the same age? Takane needs paychecks, not advice and _pity_.

She swears, if it weren't for that lady meddling, she would've already separated the twins and put the brown menace in the back shed, away from her pure baby girl, her only baby girl. It takes every fiber in her being to not scoff when she has to feed and clothe the unwanted child.

To these sentiments, Saizo has no words. In fact, he seems to say less and less as the days go by, like something inevitable has gripped his heart and driven away all hope.

In this state, as his inner novelist dictates, Saizo leaves his thoughts jotted down on multiple crumpled papers until he reaches the desired conclusion. He seals it in two envelopes, just in case, and hands one over to the neighbors and the other to Nana when she comes by again. She shoots him a concerned look when he heaves a harsh cough, but he waves off the concern with a mischievous finger raised; the twins are napping, tiny hands inseparable. "The instructions are on the back," he says, pocketing a bloody handkerchief.

When Nana can no longer drop by, as her clumsy son seems to need a very full-time mother, the Sato household falls into a deeper state of unhappiness. Takane is fixated on her televised debut, and the sicker Saizo grows, the more determined he is on finishing his final book. To prevent his wife from taking apart the most precious thing in his life, the man sits by his children every night, typing away at an old laptop and watching Nagi curl into Mui instead of the sheets.

Sometimes, and he knows that no one is looking or else he'd die from embarrassment, he'll just cry for them; for all of the hardships that he won't be there to ease, for their first steps and words and friends and loves, for their lives without him. The novel _For Them_ by Sato Saizo never finds its way to the ones who need it the most, sealed away in a shabby gray coffin.

A month after this episode, when the twins are about to turn three, the freshly widowed Takane hits it big and remarries stupidity personified: Tachibana Yusuke. He moves them to the edge of Namimori, in a mansion big enough to house the city's homeless, and introduces Nagi as the angel and Mui as the **gaijin** to his associates.

* * *

 _Today is a good day_ , Nagi decides, primarily because mother makes it a habit to leave her children unfed and unattended.

The woman is at a dinner party with some of the richest people in Japan, dragging her husband along as an accessory to flaunt. This comes as a surprise to neither twin, the servants having also conveniently disappeared, but their absence does nothing to deter the celebration; after all, there is little reason to believe that anyone other than Mui is a parental figure.

Into their sixth year of life, and Nagi respects no one nearly as much as she does her older sister. When no one is around to buy Nagi clothes, Mui learns how to sew in a day. When there is a bug in the house, Mui is the first to disinfect. When the fridge is empty, Mui cooks up magic from scraps. She never seems to need anything besides encouragement, of which Nagi is certainly more than happy to give.

"Mui-nee, can you make lus… lusuagunia?"

" _Lasagna_? Only if you help cut the onions."

She never seems to think twice about her sister's cooking expertise or bilingualism. In fact, Nagi encourages her and takes every chance to hear the—what is it called again, Itawen?—pretty other language. _Pretty_ , like the way her sister's dark skin looks against the egg-shell white of the kitchen as she peppers the ragu. Her complexion is healthy and wholesome, glowing in a way that makes Nagi wish her pale palette could retain the same amount of light; all she does is burn in the sun. And has she even gotten started on her sister's purple curls—

"N… Na… Nagi, you're projecting again." Mui brings her back to reality with a laugh. The six year-old blinks once, twice, and flushes deeply.

"S-sorry. I just wish my hair was shiny and fluffy like yours," Nagi mumbles.

"Only you, imouto. Only you." Her mixed twin responds with this sad smile, the kind that children shouldn't know how to make. Nagi doesn't quite grasp the implications, but she preens at the idea of being her sister's sole admirer, and hugs her from the back, pressing her ear to a familiar heartbeat. This effectively dumps more cheese into the baked dish, which prompts Mui to slam her forehead into the counter and Nagi to fist-pump at her success.

Who _doesn't_ love some extra cheese?

After dinner, the two girls lie side by side on the lawn and talk about food and books and dreams. Particularly, Nagi learns about the outside world through Mui's eyes: an expensive boat ride down the coral coast, accompanied by a picnic and roses; cobblestone steps under two figures running from the rain, each carrying a bag of vegetables; the warmth of a ballroom somewhere in paradise, filled with champagne kisses and chocolate laughter.

Though Nagi doesn't really know what any of that entails, she nonetheless feels the need to make the little she does comprehend come to life, pulling her sister into a silly dance and laughing the night away.

A lifelong regret: she wishes the next morning had never come, if only to preserve their perfect world and prevent the pain.

Mother comes home smelling the residue of a foreign meal and throws a glare in Mui's direction; even without hard proof, she always finds fault in the child. Before anyone can stop her, she has the brown girl by the curls, dragging her into the recently cleared out basement and throwing away the key. She ignores Nagi's " _It was me! I told her to do it!_ " and Mui's screams. Ultimately, it is this punishment alone that creates the latter's intense fear of the dark.

Hours later, when the house has gone completely still and Nagi finds the key at the bottom of the compost, the twins reunite, both pairs of amethyst eyes red and weary. The youngest sets a plate of poorly wrapped onigiri on the table, wringing her hands together.

"I-I tried to make them like you do," she confesses, like she has failed before even trying. "You gotta eat, or you have no energy."

Mui takes the biggest ball and tears into it, munching carefully around the harder bits of rice. The seaweed is wet, and it only grows damper as she cries into the second and third bites and her sister panics.

"Ahhh, don't cry! Is it bad? I knew it."

"No, they're delicious. You w-worked so hard to make them, I'm just so h-happy."

Nagi looks anywhere between flattered and tearful. "I'll make them for you again, I promise!" Small arms wrap around shaking shoulders. "Does it hurt anywhere?"

"Everything hurts less when I'm with you," Mui whispers into fair skin. Her hands come up to reciprocate the embrace. "I love you, Nagi."

"I love you, Mui-nee."

A lifelong lesson: her sister is still human, even if she can speak Itawen or cook lusuagunia or seem like nothing ever shakes her to the core.

* * *

 _Today is a bad day_ , Mui decides, primarily because it is the first day of elementary school and their parents are not going to show up.

As much as their truancy relieves her, she loathes seeing Nagi even fractionally unhappy. Takane and Yusuke were not made to raise children, of this Mui is certain, but that doesn't mean they are any less responsible for _being_ _here_.

But this six year-old isn't about to let them ruin the day, and so she does as Robinhood would: steal from the rich (Takane), give to the poor (Nagi).

Before the rooster crows, she sneaks out of the house to pawn off a silver ring and buy her twin the brightest red **randoseru** this side of Japan; for herself, a deep orange. The small business owner, a white-haired man named Kawahira, looks oddly knowing, as if he's seen this exact same game plan enacted before. He sets down his newspaper to stare Mui straight in the eye, until she considers crying pervert, and then proceeds to hand her Chococat and Keroppi keychains on the house, along with a… lighter?

"Congrats, brat. You made it." He taps her forehead twice and she bats his hand away, an unwelcomed wave of nostalgia rolling over her. When she exits the shop and heads back to an excited Nagi, she considers that he wasn't actually praising her for entering the first grade, but for something she can't seem to place her finger on; something all too distant and close in the same breath. Nonetheless, the lighter is safely concealed in her left sock.

Despite the hand-me-down condition, the uniforms look absolutely darling on Mui and Nagi, not that the former expected any less, especially of her imouto. Under the kind Namimori sunshine, their matching hats gleam like beacons of hope as they skip down the street hand-in-hand and through the gates...

... right into trouble. From what Mui can gather in one glance, a group of older boys has ruined a smaller one's bag, throwing sand into all of its pockets and stomping on its straps for shits and giggles.

"Hiieee! S-stop!"

Internally, Mui fumes with the heat of a thousand forest fires, seeing herself reflected in the victim, but externally, she breathes through her nose and tries to steer clear of the situation. Nope, not going to ruin this day, nope nope _nope_ , not even to help a brother out.

Of course, she doesn't get very far when Nagi cries " _Injustice!_ " and makes a mad dash for the bullies, foregoing all of her sister's warnings. Fast forward twenty paces, and the eldest finds herself between a rock and a hard place, or more specifically, between three fourth-graders and a mouthful of sediment. Mui peers over her shoulder at Nagi, who shoots her a mischievous smile and helps their pitiful peer stand.

 _Why me_ , she thinks despairingly and holds her hands up in pacification. "Um, could you maybe not hurt the backpack? What did it ever do to you?"

"What's it to you, ugly?" the first butt asks.

"We're just having some fun with Dame-Tsuna," the next one adds.

"Yeah, be a good girl and run along," says last, the leader, as far as size.

"Dame-Tsuna?" She furrows her eyebrows. As if on cue, a modest _eep_ sounds from behind her, putting a face to the title. "If I had to call anyone no-good, it would be a bunch of ten year-olds who think that hurting someone half their size makes them look tough."

A beat of silence and three blushing faces. "L-like a gaijin is so tough!" the leader stutters. "I bet your p-parents don't even want you—"

Now it's personal. "Let me be clear about one thing." He gets kneed in the gut for the first comment (she _abhors_ that word), and his collar pulled forward for the parental accuracy. "You think a black girl like me can't make you feel just as unwanted?"

The boy whimpers when she pulls out the lighter and traces his chubby jawline. "Well, I've got news for you big guy: try me again, and _I'm gonna burn your house_."

The fire sparks, and Nagi laughs after the bullies take off with looks of absolute horror carved into their cheeks. "Is that your new catchphrase? I like it."

Truth be told, she doesn't know where it came from, or how to explain her newly discovered affinity for the lighter. "Don't get used to it," Mui sighs finally, dusting her skirt. A voice in the back of her head tells her that the threat is here to stay.

A bell rings overhead as all the students make their way into the building for class. "Mui, we're gonna be late!" Nagi gasps, clapping her hands to her mouth. "I'll save you a seat."

"Wait—"

Too late, the Nagi has flown the coop, leaving her twin behind with a wide-eyed, tearful child. He is a trembling creature with brown, gravity-defying hair and dusty hands clenched into tiny fists, staring at the ground like it's done him a great injustice. Mui blinks away an unknown recognition; has she met this boy before? No, impossible; the twins have never properly left the house until now. But she swears he once jumped through a fourth story window, on an island by the sea.

In the present, she takes one peek at his unrecognizable bag, collapsed against a sand animal, and decides that backpacks are overrated anyway, shrugging hers off and passing it over.

"W-what is this?" he squeaks.

"A reward for not letting them see your tears," Mui replies, removing her hat as well. She fixes it onto his poofy hair with a fond smile. "You can go ahead and cry now. I packed tissues."

Almost instantaneously, his shoulders sag and the rain falls, drop by drop, from his honest caramel eyes. He must've been very scared, sniffling multiple times before asking for her name.

"Sato Mui, but you can just call me Mui, um…?"

"Sawada Tsunayoshi! I'm S-Sawada Tsunayoshi."

"Okay okay, Sawada-kun Sawada-kun," she teases. "The girl who ran in is my sister Nagi. I'll see you in class."

She doesn't quite hear him say "just Tsuna" or "thank you" when she leaves, and almost misses her teacher's inquiry while daydreaming in her window seat. A spiral notebook makes contact with her forehead.

"Welcome back, Sato-chan. Now tell me, where is your hat and backpack?" Susume-sensei crosses her arms expectantly.

Mui blanches, and that's when Nagi decides to actually come to the rescue. "Sensei, we're sharing. It's a twin thing."

Everyone in the class laughs at their expense, but the girls both sigh in relief. The topic isn't brought up again in favor of a name activity, but one little boy across the room seems to replay it over and over, as though in disbelief that someone would give up a new backpack and premium edition Keroppi keychain for him.

* * *

"So how was your first day of school?" his mother asks him as soon as he comes through the door.

"Kaa-san, I think I made some friends!"

"Oh, that's lovely! You should invite them over. What are their names?"

"Sato Mui and Nagi. They are twins! Mui-chan scared these boys away, and and gave me her backpack, and—"

Sawada Nana drops the dish in her hands with a resounding _crack_ , memories of a baby, a novelist, and a letter coming to mind as her son rattles off about purple eyes and brown skin.

* * *

 **Vocabulary:** kurombo (N-word), gaijin (foreigner/outsider), randoseru (small gift backpack given to elementary students in Japan)

 **Question(s):** Who do you think will mostly likely be Mui's best friend, outside of Nagi? What about Nagi's best friend?


	3. Chapter 3: On Evaluating Hope, Part One

**A/N:** Apologies for the late update! Summer school has been pure stress. Enjoy! Cat scene was inspired by the Japanese film _If Cats Disappeared From The World,_ one of my favorites _._

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but Mui. Japanese is in bold!

 **Warning:** Mukuro (lol)

 **Edit: 10/22/17**

* * *

"My philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice."

—Newt Scamander

* * *

Chapter 3: _On Evaluating Hope, Part One_

Namimori has an interesting relationship with cats, the point being that either everyone knows a street cat or has adopted one. There are civilians who feed them leftover seafood, others who put out milk, and some go as far as to give them designated nicknames and handmade houses, if they haven't already fostered one. Pet stores have seen a rise in toy and catnip sales in the past few years, local shelters both enthused and nervous by the sheer amount of donors coming in and out weekly.

To this town, cats are a way of life, which is why an eight year-old Nagi finds it amusing that her twin attempted to keep the one behind their house a secret. It is a black kitten with gold-green eyes and the smallest meow in the world; she giggles when Mui scrambles to cover it up in a makeshift basket.

"Hm hm, so this is where you go after school!"

"I-I was trying to surprise you," she relents. "You wanted to draw animals, right? I think tracking his growth everyday would be good practice."

The younger sister is beside herself with happiness, feeling her eyes water as she crouches next to the woven container. "You… how did you know?"

Mui blinks in surprise, and then leans in with a secret. "I can actually read minds, but that's between you and me." She gets a light push for that one. "Silly, we're twins! Of course I know."

"And how do you know it's a 'he?'"

"Gut feeling."

"Maybe we could even get him to be the classroom pet. Susume-sensei took our bunny away."

"That's a great idea! We should tell her next time."

"Y'know, he reminds me of you," Nagi observes, lifting the kitten into her lap. "For obvious reasons, yes, but I can tell he's a small fighter too." Imperceptibly, Mui stills at the comment, wracking her brain for a reason why owning a cat is so second nature to her, and why the idea of a fighter cat sounds like it once happened, until her sister asks, "what should we name him?"

"Oh that's too easy: **Retasu**!"

"... Mui-nee, why are you like this?"

"I found him in a box of lettuce, what's the problem?"

* * *

It appears that no matter where one is, excelling in school proves to be unwanted attention all the same, and if you look nothing like other people, it is a downward spiral from there.

By the middle of third grade, Mui has forgotten what it is like to sit in a room and feel like a part of something larger, something warm and accepting and purposeful: community. In the diffused light of rainy June, she is an umber anomaly in a sea of pale hands and rosy cheeks, stranded on a wooden island with only the familiar squeeze of a hand.

As Susume-sensei calls out the term grades and she walks back to her seat by the window, Mui casts a strained smile to her twin. The other girl looks ready to take her home and bundle her up in blankets, away from the ever-staring world that is Namimori Elementary. The eyes don't have to be in her direct line of sight; they are everywhere else, from the track coach to the kids on the playground to the parents after school.

The final **dotoku** lecture cements Mui further into the role of a non-believer tuning in on a sermon. She notes that this particular subject breaks her full-mark streak with a glaring score of _41_ , followed by a satisfactory mark in computer usage, and sighs deeply into her hands as essays are passed down the rows. _I guess_ _Nagi can handle the computer stuff._

And so what if she fails to associate moral dilemma with losing a pencil or being a slow runner, or whatever small things her classmates cry over? Can she help feeling that there is something greater at stake?

Indeed, it is difficult to feel that communal sympathy when even the girl in front of her skips her paper, deliberately getting out of her chair to give the stack to the next student. Two brown hands fall back to their sides in defeat. It is a universal, unspoken law to avoid those who are different, even if that different girl herself cannot comprehend why she remembers logarithms without ever having opened an advanced math book, or how a black great-grandfather can pass down complete pigmentation within three generations.

At least no one tries to call her gaijin anymore.

"You!" Nagi hisses, moving from her desk to rip the rude classmate a new one, but her elder sister puts out an arm and shakes her head. She doesn't want that essay back anyway.

As the bell sounds and the twins make to exit, across the room Tsuna shuffles around to find his water bottle and instead comes across the discarded paper, crumpled under his chair. While reading it, he gets tripped on his way out, maybe pushed into a wall, but for a while, he can't hear any mean remarks over his shoulder as he loses himself in someone else's story, titled "I want to be better than yesterday."

In the future, he will frame it next to his own essay about becoming a giant robot.

* * *

The next morning, he musters up his courage and asks the author if he can eat lunch with her.

Since the day she gave him her backpack, it's taken him a year and a half to rekindle their connection, but there's no better time than the present. The girl opens and closes her mouth, as if no one has ever asked to be in her company before, so her imouto answers in her stead.

"Take a seat, Sawada-kun!" Nagi eagerly motions at the chair in front of Mui; between the sisters is a single tray consisting of an egg sandwich and vegetables, a brownie, and a cup of apple juice. Something tells Tsuna that this isn't the usual sharing, but rather another unfortunate, mysterious circumstance of the Sato twins.

Maybe that same acute intuition is the reason why he passes his brownie to Nagi and an untouched juice over to Mui with a hesitant smile. The latter stares at him from beneath hooded lashes, gauging an ulterior motive. "Ah, I-I already had a snack earlier," goes his white lie.

"Thank you," is the soft response. The wordless suspicion from a moment ago disappears, replaced by tangible gratitude in her amethyst eyes. _I did good_ , the boy decides as he digs into his lunch.

"Me and Mui-nee were just talking about our grades. Did you know that she almost got full marks?"

Tsuna momentarily chokes on the sandwich. "Whoa!" Cough. "I've n-never gotten a 100 before..." Cough cough. "...On an-anything. You're amazing, Mui-chan."

"Here, let me see your grades." Mui holds a tawny hand out. "You have them, don't you? In your back pocket."

"Eh?" _She knows,_ he internally screams. "Hiiee! Why d-do you want them?"

"Why did you crumple them?"

Nagi is looking back and forth between the children, nudging her sister and writing with an index finger on her forearm. _You might make him cry_.

 _I just want to help._

"I…" Tsuna trails off and brings his hands together. "B-because…" Upon closer inspection, his prayer-like gesture is an apprehensive plea, trembling shoulders alerting the twins that they are walking on eggshells with someone who desperately wants to escape; afraid of judgment, like he can hear an invisible chorus of _useless_ and _weak_ in his head, clinging to the ruins of his self-esteem.

"You don't have to," Nagi placates. "Sometimes Mui-nee is just too forward."

When the boy finally peers up, meeting Mui's apologetic gaze, she startles, and for a second, Tsuna has the distinct feeling of being walked out on, as though she fails to see him in the present moment. The strange reaction is forgotten though as she pulls out a half-sheet and scribbles something down, sliding it to his side.

"I want to try something. Can you read this aloud for me, and then pass it to Nagi?"

He leans over to read the characters, furrowing his eyebrows in intense concentration, like he can't make out enough characters to coherently speak. A bead of sweat rolls down his jaw. "I think it says, 'You came to school fast.'"

Nagi receives the paper. "'You came to school early.'"

A look of recognition dawns on her face as she faces her older sister, who intently stares at the paper, wheels turning in her head. The thoughtful expression soon disappears with a smile, and Tsuna can feel his quivering heartbeat in the shifting ambience.

"Sawada-kun, do you know what a homophone is?" Mui asks. He shakes his head slowly, a blush running its way along his cheeks; feeling that he _should_ know, lest he lose respect. "It is a word that sounds like another word, but means something different. Sometimes, it can be spelled differently too."

She tugs one of his peachy hands into hers, and he can't find it in himself to protest, even as the heat in his face intensifies.

"Pay attention here. You too, Nagi. This set of characters is **hayai** , but as time. This other one," she presses more strokes into his skin, "is hayai, but for speed. See how they sound the same, almost look the same, but mean two different things?"

"So I saw another meaning?" The confusion seems to instantaneously lift, replaced by a nervous hope.

"Yeah, and though Nagi's reading of the sentence was correct, you tried your best."

Again, a fixation occurs between the two children; the one with a nervous disposition stares into the eyes of the calm guidance with an intensity of a lost person who has finally found an answer.

"You really think so?" he asks quietly, as if something will break if he raises his voice. "I-I'm not just stupid?"

"I know so," Mui affirms. "I had my theories, but I am now sure that you are probably dyslexic, which means you need more help when you read and write. Sometimes you can't keep up in literature, right? Like the words just disappear or blur out? And maybe in math too, when we have new equations?"

"Yeah! How did you know?"

"Hehe, Mui-nee is such a worrywart," Nagi chimes in, drawing little sketches of Retasu on the discarded half-sheet. "She read a whole book about learning problems to help you, and she also found our classroom kitten just because I like to draw!"

"Ahhh I'm so embarrassed, don't just tell him that! What is Sawada-kun going to think of me at this rate?"

"Well a mother hen..."

"Nooo—"

"You are kind," Tsuna says, without missing a beat. "Please call m-me Tsuna. Sawada is very formal, and I want to be your friend."

"Silly, you already are," she laughs before writing another character into his skin. "You know, you are luckier than you believe. The 'na' in your name means seven, but it is also one of the characters in **kōun'na**. So, you are a lucky boy."

"Lucky boy," he repeats happily.

"Cheesy children," Nagi chimes in. "You're gonna do great, Tsuna-kun."

At their encouragement, Tsuna feels a surge of confidence and pulls out his crumbled grade sheet then and hands it to Mui, determination set in his soft features. "Kaa-san said it's not enough to be just lucky, so could you both help me be better tomorrow?"

She looks to her little sister, who gives her a thumbs-up, and nods her head.

"Let's be better together, Tsuna."

* * *

The twins find that breaks are best spent dawdling around in _Kawahira Goods_ than at home.

How either of them come to this conclusion? The final straw happens in July of the same year, when the summer grows increasingly unforgiving and the rainy season sets in like a bad bruise. Nagi is hit upside the face for talking back to Yusuke, and Mui gets locked in the basement again for almost setting fire to the man's blue blazer in her sister's defense.

Like always, the last thing she hears before tumbling down the small flight of stairs is her twin promising to get her out.

"Let me out! P-please, I'm so scared… it's so dark and c-cold…"

But this time, the hollowed hole beneath the mansion is different. In this frequent, inescapable darkness, after crying her little heart out and screaming her throat open, the mixed girl remembers someone also seeking revenge. She can't quite make out a face, or a voice for that matter, but their skin is as dark as hers, if not more so, and their green hair pulls up with the aid of an intricate scarf, like a streak of green lightning in the midst of a blotchy, purple storm. The person is a force to be reckoned with, leaving a goliath of fire unscathed, body sizzling with electricity.

 _One step closer to the truth_ , something sings in her mind, but the fog is thick and perpetual.

With her trembling back pressed to the door, she pulls out the cracked lighter Kawahira gave her when they first ( _really?_ ) met, flicking it on to end the nameless memory. The flame weakly pulses in the void, its heat stealing oxygen and drawing her face closer like an ill-fated moth's dance.

And like that doomed creature and its death tango, she wonders if she can set herself on fire, and if the house would go down with her. Nagi is a smart girl, she would be able to get out in time. As for Mui? She would finally be free; anything but the darkness.

And without a second thought, she closes a hand over the blaze.

What happens next is that of one arc ending and another beginning, the curtain lifting from its dusty stage; it is the stuff of myths, of the triumphs of gods, of the action-packed bedtime stories in Nagi's book collection; the discovery that perhaps the current world is merely a shadow of a higher reality, of a greater truth, of a better purpose.

The brown girl lifts her sacrificed appendage, expecting to have fried some nerve ends, but the pain never comes. Instead, a green glow passes over her palm, sparks running spirals down her wrist, just like the person's from her memory. Her skin is taut and pinched, hardened by the surge of energy.

 _My skin feels like stone,_ Mui thinks. _How is that possible?_

In disbelief, and something akin to fright, Mui drops the lighter and scrambles on the steps, her breathing a gasp away from hyperventilation. When the radiance does not cease, and instead snakes its way under her skin and illuminates her veins, she passes out.

In her dreamscape, the land is gone, no subconscious visions of people or animals plodding along. She is alone and cannot speak, a vessel of desolation floating in an abyss of languid waves and pressure.

And then, there is a long hallway forged by black iron and white brick. Mui is certain that she has been here before, her feet carrying the body forward like they've always known the way. An acidic, putrid smell digs a migraine into her skull, muffled voices pounding against her ears; her clammy hands are no comfort.

At the final destination, a boy with a blue crown of hair comes into view. He can't be much older than her, his small white shirt and tan pants clashing horribly in the dank setting. He stands motionless in the middle of the muted medical room, broken machinery and corpses lined at his feet, the head of a glistening trident in his pallid grasp and face tilted away from the light. The pipes and fixtures whine and buzz overhead, wires swinging upon the soiled walls, next to the bloody handprints between the cracks.

Despite wanting to make herself as small as possible, Mui walks through the doorway, holding the frame to steady her knocking knees. The boy turns upon hearing her footfalls, angular nose scrunched up and an apprehensive pull to his chapped lips. She jumps at his mismatched eyes.

"Dora?" he calls, wiping a red cheek. Once he spots her at the dim entrance, a smile splits his sunken cheeks. "It really is you, kufufu. Where have you been all this time?"

"Who's Dora?" Her fingers curl around a crowbar by her calf, ready to fight or flee at any given notice. "W-what happened here? What have you done to these people?"

He levels her with a strange look, but the smile remains. "Dora, you know what _they_ have done to me better than anyone else. Did you perhaps hit your head somewhere? Let me see—"

"Stay back!" Mui holds up her weapon, wide amethyst eyes watching his every move. It's like he sees something she can't quite grasp. "Look, I don't know who you are or what you're doing in my head, but this must be a terrible dream. A minute ago, I w-was trapped in the basement and I couldn't breathe, a-and then I saw this person walk out of a fire and this green light was coming out of my hand…"

"You…" The boy is in front of her now, cradling her jaw between two cold hands; her breath hitches as she stills in his hold, tasting the iron wafting from his trident. "You're not Dora... _yet_. What is the meaning of this?"

"H-how did you—I don't know, please, I just fainted and found myself here. I-I need to go back to my sister, Nagi must be worried—"

"Nagi?" he whispers, and something seems to click hard. "Not Seppie then… and you don't remember me or _that_."

"What am I missing?" The girl wants to get away from him and his riddles, but the tangible grief and alarm radiating off his being keeps her in place; he's convinced that he knows her better than she knows herself, and she's morbidly curious.

 _Who is Seppie?_

"Your death."

Confused, Mui feels a weight drop in her chest, rippling apart her arteries and organs. This is not the answer she expected.

"No… that doesn't make sense, I'm alive and well." But then, and it drives her to believe that she must have really hit her head, has she actually been reborn? Reincarnation _would_ explain those times she loses grip on reality, falling into a trance of misplaced images, sensations, and people. No, this is ridiculous; surely no one can come back from the dead. How did she die in the first place?

The ground beneath their feet begins to quake, the backdrop fizzling out like television static; bodies melt into the gravel, the computers and syringes and beds crumbling apart.

He shakes his head, taking her by the shoulders and guiding her back to the doorway in a hurry. "I don't have enough time to explain, but somehow, you came back Dora… no, what is your name now?"

"M-Mui."

"Mui," the boy repeats. "Mui, you just need to know they can't—mustn't—hurt you again."

"They?"

"Mafia."

" _Mafia_? I live in Japan, what would Mafia want with me?"

His cruel smile sends a chill down her spine. "Everything. Do not let them find this skin." He gestures to the green glow on her forearm, the painless burn having returned full-force. "You have never been good at hiding, but survival is different. You know survival like you know how to burn a house."

"None of this makes sense, I've never burned anything," she cries. "Who are you?!"

"Mukuro. See you again, Mui."

Without warning, he pushes her back into the void. She free-falls, having half a mind to throttle this Mukuro and the other to scream, but then she hears a door open and her head hits tile. Momentarily, even the gentle moonlight blinds her, muscles straining against the nausea; her eyes eventually adjust to the sad face of her twin.

"I've got you, I've got you," Nagi soothes like a mantra, slim fingers kneading comfort into her skull. She relaxes into the warmth. "Kaa-sama threw the key over the fence this time, so I had to go through the hole."

"Oh no," Mui whispers. "Did you get hurt?"

"I just have a bruise on my knee. Besides, it hurts less when I'm with you."

The older sister smiles at her reused words. "I must've been in there for a long time."

"Too long." Nagi pulls her up into an embrace; the floor is a cold glaze beneath their legs. "It was hard, wasn't it? You don't have to pretend Mui-nee. Let's go to Kawahira-san tomorrow, I'll make onigiri."

On cue, Mui begins to cry, clutching at the fabric of her twin's shirt. She fails to say anything about her "dream", or the green light, or the fact that she thinks she might be someone else. "I dropped m-my lighter and b-broke it."

"Shh, he'll have more. You need some ice cream too."

* * *

Fourth grade comes in like a wrecking ball, and there are new students in town.

It is a clear April day in Namimori, fully refreshing considering the three consecutive months of snowfall beforehand. With strawberry blonde hair, heart-shaped face, golden eyes, and milky complexion, one Sasagawa Kyoko introduces herself as a transfer from Kyoto and wins every heart in the room upon smiling. From next door, everyone can hear her older brother Ryohei yell "I am _extremely_ happy to be here!" in the fifth grade classroom.

At the back of her mind, Mui stores away her disappointment and the hope that just once, the new students would look like her. To comfort herself, she thinks that perhaps Kyoko's brother, with his tanner physique, would be worth befriending, the closest she has ever been to someone dark-skinned.

After a couple of days, as the rest of Namimori Elementary has become, Nagi and Tsuna are infatuated. The younger twin has her chin between her hands, slouching against the desk with a dreamy look on her face, while the boy is staring pointedly in awe as Kyoko laughs at someone's joke. Mui can't help but throw in some words of encouragement while reading.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you two have a crush."

So many things happen after this observation, all of which include: 1. Two pairs of eyes blinking rapidly, 2. Tsuna falling out of his chair, 3. Nagi turning multiple shades of red, and 4. Simultaneous denial and accusation.

"I-I don't—"

"I-it's not like that—"

"Mui-chan, you can be really nosey—"

"Yeah, mother hen—"

"Sasagawa-chan is just…"

"... so pretty."

Cue romantic and exasperated sighs. "Maybe we're actually triplets," Mui shuts her history book. "Finishing each other's sentences, liking the same people, go figure."

"You like her too?!" The friends ask at the same time, before shooting each other surprised but competitive looks. At this point, all Mui can hope is that this year won't do them all in.

* * *

 **Vocabulary:** Retasu (lettuce), dotoku (ethics/morals; learned in 1st to 2nd grade), hayai (early/fast), kōun'na (lucky)

 **Question:** What do you think of Tsuna, or another character, having a learning disability like dyslexia?


	4. Chapter 4: On Evaluating Hope, Part Two

**A/N:** Terribly sorry for the delay friends! God I hate research papers. As y'all can see, we're starting the descent! Introduced some of our favorites to the plot too. This chapter is a little longer than usual to make up for my absence. As always, thank you for being here!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but Mui. Japanese is in bold!

 **Warning:** look away if you like animals and kids

 **Edit: 10/22/17**

* * *

"Where were you when I was still kind?"

—Gregory Alan Isakov, _This Empty Northern Hemisphere_

* * *

 _Chapter 4: On Evaluating Hope, Part Two_

Career day takes Namimori Elementary by storm, children attending class in droves of glitter and cloth and parchment, mini carbon copies of businessmen and ballerinas, even mythical beasts, showing off their costumes.

Susume-sensei pulls those specific magical offenders to the side for a talk, including one robotic Tsuna; who, for the third year in a row, has convinced himself that people can earn steady incomes by becoming one with machines.

Off to the side, Mui looks incredibly put out that arson is also not considered a stable career, feeling ironic in her firefighter suit, as her lighter sits uncomfortably in her back pocket. On her left, Nagi sports a white coat and black skirt, plastic stethoscope hanging from her neck. Behind fake glasses, her eyes follow the route of one Sasagawa Kyoko, adjusting a navy blue hat and the gold badge on her chest.

"You have the hots for a police officer," Mui points out. "I can respect that."

" _Mui-nee!_ "

"It's okay, we're all a little in love with Kyoko, I get it. She's kind of a badass."

"Yeah... I just think it's cool," Nagi stresses, "that she wants to be the first policewoman in Namimori."

"Go tell her then." Her older sister hands her a packet of affirmation stickers. "She won't mind another gold star."

And so Nagi marches up to the dazzling girl, wordlessly presses the sticker into her sleeve, and runs out the door, rattling off a thousand apologies as her twin chases after her. If she had stayed behind a moment longer, she would've noticed the soft, rosy coloring of her crush's face at the compliment, interest thoroughly piqued.

* * *

Between the twins, Nagi definitely has quicker attention to detail, probably due to years of witnessing the covert injustices dealt upon her sister. So, it is natural that she spots Retasu first too, curled in on himself in the snow: a still, inky half-moon blotting the white.

She thinks little of it at first, more concerned about their company. There are two boys hovering over the body, wide-eyed and shaking; Satoshi and Kenma, well-known troublemakers in the robotics club. As the sun begins to make itself scarce, they talk to each other in quiet, panicked hisses, wiping their hands on scruffy trousers and startling at Nagi's voice. Mui and Tsuna trail up not far behind, bags of feed, blankets, and shovels in hand, expressions just as confused.

"What are you doing here? It's not your turn this week."

Feeling the keen, indignant effects of interrogation, the beefier Kenma replies, "S'none of your business! Can't we play with the cat too? It's a class pet for a reason." Feet are shuffled back and forth, legs moving forward to cover up the mistake; they are desperate for a way out.

"We have to feed him now though, he needs two meals a day," Tsuna reasons. "Maybe after? You can help with cleaning."

"N-no, we want to play right now. You guys can just leave the stuff here, we can handle the rest."

If Nagi is quick to notice something, Mui meets her halfway with action. In her usual show of suspicion, the girl narrows her purple eyes and steps in front of her loved ones. Her big head of curls seems to rise in the cold temperature, like the grand roots of a fig tree.

"What are you trying to wheedle your way out of this time?" The boys look significantly more terrified; sometimes, Mui enjoys having this specific effect on people, finding it rather fun to watch them become progressively more distressed, her head dipped and shadowed. "Is that Retasu? What is he doing on the ground? He hates snow."

No longer able to keep a straight face, Satoshi blurts, "It was him! Kenma did it!"

The accused boy gasps and hits him upside the head, but his accomplice refuses to stay silent. He licks his dry lips, eager to rid himself of any blame. "I-It was all him, I thought w-we were just going to play a prank on the next kids on d-duty, but then Kenma squeezed the c-cat because i-it wasn't listening, and then it stopped moving—"

"Shut up idiot, you grabbed it first!"

"No, you did! You said it wouldn't mind!"

"Forget it! I didn't do nothing wrong, it scratched me!" Kenma turns and sneers. "Black cats are unlucky anyway. It should've been replaced."

Maybe it is Nagi's sketchbook dropped into the wet snow, collecting a permanent chill to its lead pages; or the way Tsuna's mouth opens to his adam's apple, choking on words; or the distant honk of a traffic horn, alerting one to the outside world, but the children hear the sound of something falling, like a hand reached out but not taken, like a person left jilted in the rain.

Just minutes ago, there was—there existed—an adept, healthy, breathing feline named after lettuce. His favorite snack was shrimp, his favorite toy a rubber ball, and his favorite time to nap the twilight. The twins would sneak around the back gate every day to scratch the best spot behind his left ear, or tease him with a fake mouse, or sic him on Tsuna, who laugh-cried upon first meeting their furry friend. Tens upon hundreds of sketches were dedicated to Retasu and his amazing growth, from the first week of life to adulthood. The softness of his eyes and paws never changed.

And now, his midnight body is somehow fixed in a casket of snow, before the people who love him most.

It is said that children begin to understand irreversibility at age four, that once a body is dead, it can't ever be alive again. Between five and seven, non-functionality becomes the understanding that a dead body can no longer perform like an able one; universality, the idea that every living thing dies, whether plant or animal or person; death does not discriminate.

But finality must be witnessed, and today, the spectators are 10, going on 11. There are no hysterics, not even from the boys who held a cat by its throat for fun, because no one here truly knows what they are seeing, doesn't want to accept the reality, but tears come nonetheless.

Nagi runs forward, pushing past the killers and sinking to her knees before her beloved cat. Between two purple mittens, Retasu is pressed into a collarbone, as though the animal can be warmed back to life. No words are good enough to tell the girl that she is too late. She holds his face to her cheek, listening, waiting, hoping for the revival, but the gravity of the situation sets in as quickly as crystals mist over her eyes.

It is Tsuna who collects himself first, blind anger and contempt an awakening.

At seeing one of his good friends silently cry, holding her dead cat in a trembling embrace, he can feel his heart bloat, a visceral, violent emotion descending in his blood like a moonless night; the air sizzles with unprecedented heat. He has never felt this way before, and at the forefront of these feelings, he _wants to hurt someone._

To answer them, he smashes Kenma's face with the heavy plastic shovel in his knuckle-whitened grip.

The impact nearly dislocates the bigger boy's jaw, as he stands his ground against the wall, but before he can fight back, the tool comes down again, and again, and again, red building up on snow and flesh. In the background, Satoshi screams and runs off, leaving his friend to die.

"Ts… na… Tsuna… Tsu... sto… it." Patient hands rise to shield caramel vision. He realizes, when the familiar voice washes over him, that he is heaving and shaking, shovel raised over his head like the hammer of judgment. " _Sawada Tsunayoshi_ , that's enough. You're going to ruin your jacket."

Mui has never called him by his full name before; he will later reflect on how nice it sounds on her tongue.

"They hurt… Nagi," he pants, blinking back his own tears. "I just…" Has he always been capable of this violence?

"I know." He can almost hear the sardonic smile as his sight clears and she gestures for the shovel. If her friend wasn't in such a daze, he could've sworn her fingers were glowing green. "Hand it over lucky boy, it's my turn."

After the altercation, Kenma is hospitalized, Satoshi mysteriously transfers, Mui and Tsuna are suspended for two weeks, and Nagi buries Retasu in the nearby park. Needless to say, none of the children will ever be the same again, and Sawada Nana isn't sure who her son resembles anymore.

* * *

Three figures sit in front of a small grave, marked with a red collar and stones, weaving crowns of daffodils at its base.

"Why did he have to die?"

"Because."

"Just… because?"

"Just because."

"Will we see him again?"

A pause from the mixed child. "Yes; no one really leaves."

 _Not even someone born centuries ago._

Tsuna notices a shadow cross Mui's face and presses into her side, hoping to alleviate whatever lone burden she carries. She sends him a thankful look, and he finds that the distance from school has done him good, but he can't imagine separation from this girl; being shoulder to shoulder with Mui is the warmest and most wholesome he has felt in a long time.

* * *

On the nights through which she lies awake, Mui waits like a death row inmate beneath the window of holy light for the hands. They seek her out, moonlit palms holding her up against a bosom without a heart.

It is the sixteenth time, an unfathomable number, an inconsiderate addition, an impossible trial.

Mui jolts back and strikes out at the intruder, arms raised against the invisible threat, like she has always been prepared for battle, but at the sound of a lullaby, she lets herself be carried from bed. She falls as still as possible in the arms, clutching at the front of her green nightgown in practiced apprehension, to keep the lividity in her mauve lips at bay and her head from bashing the chin over her brow.

The brown girl recognizes the quiet breath fanning across her face by second nature, like her twin's favorites; softest in the summer and harshest in the winter, sending clear heat or white puffs into the air with each heartbeat. The hallway is a long, dim stretch leading to a bright fireplace and blanket, where the pair collapse and begin their therapy session.

In the beginning, Mui believed that her mother was just prone to sleepwalking, making habitual rounds through the mansion like an unfulfilled phantom. Breaking the silence of slumber, she would pace back and forth across the floorboards, the routine opening and closing of doors following her footfalls, upstairs _and_ downstairs. Of course, more than once, Mui would assume that she was imagining things; Nagi never noticed in her heavy sleep, and Yusuke was perpetually the "good" husband with no answers.

But sleepwalkers are not supposed to be coherent speakers, or specifically abduct children from their beds. Thus, in light of these recent, terrifying developments, Mui has come to the conclusion that Takane is not one person, but two individual women with vastly life experiences, her separate personalities coming to life at unique times. This understanding arrives as no comfort, only heightening the anxiety of the child-adult with her own identity crisis.

As a not-so-superhero, Takane is a superstar by day, interviews around the clock and fans lining up for conventions; by night, "Mikoto", the broken teenage dream with a dead man's name on her tongue.

"He used to take me to this log cabin by a lake," Mikoto murmurs into her daughter's curls. "Writers are romantic like that. It was tall and red, and matched his warm smile. One day, I want to take you to it. I'm sure it's still around, Saizo always made sure that my smaller happinesses would be permanent…

"We shared a big closet there. I would wear his clothes sometimes… I think Nagi would fit my old beige gown… I have a pink bonnet for you too…"

With a trembling voice, Mui asks, "What else did he protect?"

She discovered, after maybe the fourth episode, that questions kept the alternative woman talking, and that meant growing sleepy enough to escape from; learning about a father she will never have becomes a sad diversion.

This is how a mother and daughter who hate one another during the day spend their winter break. Deep down, the child part of Mui desires to be rocked back and forth, have long discussions, _feel loved_ , and so she appreciates the night, away from the daily harassment and tyranny. But the newly uncovered adult, the rational side, screams _trauma_ ; tells her to wake up and smell the vomit; reminds her that the basement used to be storage for unused items and now fosters unwanted children.

The dreamer knows that she must wake up. She cannot allow a split personality's momentary hugs rectify the blood spilt for her skin. Not when she is vulnerable and wants someone who never wanted her, not when she is only her mother's everything at the loneliest hour.

The most sickening aspect? Mikoto is an expert at making her think she needs these midnight talks too, these messed-up, emotional recollections that lead nowhere but start everywhere, and Mui _hates_ it. She resents the darkness that subjugates her, and the little girl who lets herself be subjugated by that darkness.

"He used to write me poems, notes about my nail polish or dresses, letters about our future. We were very poor, he knew that better than anyone else, but he still bought me nice things and made the stories I wanted to read, even when nobody read them. He really loved you too, my _beautiful black doll_ , from the minute I brought you and your sister home."

Suddenly, slender fingers grip harshly at mocha forearms and cold tears dribble down slowly. The child is silent, unfeeling, unmoving; imperceptibly, her flesh begins to crackle with electric, hardening and staving off any pain. Mikoto's nails can't break skin anymore.

"H-he loved you m-more than he loved me sometimes…"

"Why d-did he do that?"

"Did you take him f-from me?"

"I w-want him back… please…"

Mui barely flinches as the accusations, questions, and teardrops roll off her cheeks, eyes trained forward, watching the fire lap at brick and burn away the little innocence she has left. She feels no pity for the lost soul, wondering what would happen if she ripped herself from this abusive embrace, if she grabbed Nagi and left this place, if they just _burned this mansion down._

The night is young, and for the umpteenth time, Mui wonders what it would be like to have a real mother, a balance of the day and night, the kind of guidance needed to navigate her life regiven and her life reclaimed. Her lightning bristles at these thoughts.

* * *

Blood is harder to see on her sister's dark skin, which is why Nagi always carries a flashlight on hand, even during the day.

"Mui-nee, does the other guy look worse than you?"

"Mmm, I got him right between the eyes. He's probably still in the dumpster right now."

"Good."

* * *

Yamamoto Takeshi is the first to notice the change.

On their first fifth grade excursion, the teachers bring them to a sparkling lake in Namimori's countryside for camping. The children are separated by gender and rushed off to change into swimsuits, and it is during this time that the boys compare bodies.

"Check these out!"

"I got tan from last summer."

"Your tummy's showing, Tetsugawa-san."

"Yamamoto, you have so many muscles!"

The said child inspects his arms, as though for the first time, before laughing good-naturedly. "I guess my baseball training paid off!"

"I never knew you played baseball, Yamamoto-kun."

Golden eyes drift to the speaker on his right, watching the application of sunscreen on a peachy neck. He and Sawada Tsunayoshi have never actually held a real conversation, despite sharing the same classes for over four years, but nothing escapes Takeshi's observations. The boy once called "Dame-Tsuna" looks very different from his past self.

For one, he has grown a couple of inches, jawline filling out slowly but surely and chipping away baby fat. His natural blush fades into an orange-tan that outlines his cheekbones, and he no longer stutters or fails to make eye contact. But above all, there is a hardness to his eyes, a lethal edge. Everyone knows about the Kenma Incident, about how he and Sato Mui pummeled the boy into slush, but very few notice the lingering shifts in behavior like Takeshi does.

No, this is not the same Tsuna accustomed to name-calling and flushing; when he smiles just enough to show the dimple on his left side, he is once again the picture of boyish charm, but there is a fire bubbling just below the happy surface.

Takeshi belatedly notes this when he responds. "Yeah, I love it! Tou-san got me a new bat recently. Do you play any sports?"

"No, but I read about them. Kaa-san used to play volleyball in high school, so sometimes I hear about that too."

"That's so cool, what position?"

"Setter," Tsuna replies. "I think that they're the most important people in the game."

"Me too! Like strong pitching makes a baseball game, though I like to bat more."

"You definitely look like someone who'd hit a lot of home runs."

Takeshi preens at the compliment and foregoes his caution. At this point, the pair are settled on the wooden bench, paying no mind to the blow of a whistle and the rest of the children slowly filing out. They begin to talk animatedly about their parents' athletic careers and their favorite sushi before someone interrupts rather loudly.

"Yamamoto-kun, why are you talking to _him_?" Tummy Tetsugawa from earlier snorts. "He hangs out with girls all day."

"Eh, what's wrong with that?"

"'What's wrong with that' he asks." The chubby, freckled boy circles like a seagull to fish, trying to make himself appear bigger by standing on his toes. "Isn't it obvious? _Girls_. They aren't cool enough to talk to. They don't have muscles and stuff."

Tsuna smiles at that, and Takeshi raises an eyebrow to the conspiratorial gesture. "One of them sent a grown boy to the hospital," he murmurs, mostly to himself.

Apparently, everyone hears the statement though and the room falls silent, the leftover students closing in around the bench to listen in on the conversation, whispering among themselves. Takeshi has to hold a fist up to keep himself from either laughing or _ooh_ -ing. On the other hand, Tetsugawa looks absolutely miffed, but quickly recovers and smugly leans against the locker.

"Yeah, well, my parents say that Sato Mui is actually a gorilla because she's so black and rough. No wonder she lost her temper. So does that make you her zookeeper, Sawada?"

Snickers and monkey impressions make their way around the room, the mob creating an offbeat rhythm to their antics. _What a mean thing to say._ The baseball player bites his lip, unsure of how to respond. Will a joke work? Maybe food? What can he do to redirect their attention? He hates tension.

"Maa, you guys shouldn't say such things," Takeshi laughs uneasily. "Just calm down."

"Whose side are you on, Yamamoto?"

"Yeah, whose side?"

"There are no sides, we all just need to get along—"

"If it weren't for that gorilla girl, Kenma would be swimming with us!"

"She's so terrible."

"Her sister probably doesn't like her either."

"Now that's not true and you know it! You guys are being unreasonable." Takeshi tries, to no avail. In his scramble for words, he finally peers back at Tsuna and flinches at what he sees, heart hammering.

The smaller boy has crushed his bottle of sunscreen, the yellow plastic dented in the shape of a hand. His body is stock-still, shoulders hunched over and eyes trained on Tetsugawa. Truly, the quiet boy from math class is only a memory now.

A sense of urgent dread fills the air at the next words: "You know, Mui wasn't the one who hit Kenma first; I did. And I don't regret doing it either. I saw a problem and took care of it. He killed a cat, _our cat_. He choked him, and it was unforgivable."

Closer and closer the terror builds, Tetsugawa's teeth chattering, remembering the look on Kenma's sorry face when he returned to class and saw his attackers. Cold sweat beads down multiple foreheads as Tsuna exhales through his nose, gaze unwavering from his prey and smile growing bitter, like someone who has lost all faith in other people.

"But of course, none of you care about that. I suggest you get out, before you have something in common with Kenma."

The effects of the command are instantaneous; the crowd screams and rushes out, some boys falling over themselves in fear, pushing and shoving towards the exit. In their dust, Tsuna collects his broken sunscreen and towel, looking over his shoulder at a mildly awed, confused Takeshi.

"Is… is that true?" he asks. "Is that how Retasu died? Sensei never explained."

Instead of answering, the brown-haired child turns to criticize. "Yamamoto-kun, if you hate the situation, get angry and do something. Your laughter was obviously forced. It was painful to watch."

Takeshi flushes, not having expected to be chastised by someone like Tsuna, especially when they barely know each other. His mouth opens and closes, but he has no excuse for his self-defense mechanism, bowing his head in shame.

There is a long pause, before a hand reaches out to him from outside the embarrassment. "Come on, the water's going to get cold," his classmate calls. "You were telling me that your tou-san likes swords?"

"Y-yeah, I've never tried to pick one up though." Forgiven, he picks up the conversation and takes the hand like a lifeline, seeing the energy of a leader radiate off this boy in pulses of orange light.

Yamamoto Takeshi is the first to notice the change within Sawada Tsunayoshi, and is also the first one to follow it.

* * *

On the other side of the lake, Nagi is put on potato-peeling duty with Kyoko, and Mui becomes her wingwoman.

"Okay champ," the older sister starts.

"Champ? Since when was I—"

"Shhh. So, I did a little research on Kyoko's interests. She likes cakes, especially strawberry ones, and I have just the thing." She produces a keychain from her parka pocket, in the exact shape of a strawberry cheesecake, and dangles it by the silver ring. "You're going to take this charm and drop it in front of her."

"I don't get it."

"She likes cakes, this is a cake keychain. Where am I losing you?"

"How is this supposed to start a conversation?" Nagi screws her nose up. "Maybe I can just talk to her about cakes. Y'know, like a normal person?"

"That's too suspicious. Trust me imouto, this has never failed me before." A memory comes to mind of the nameless figure dropping a book on flammable chemicals to the floor and a golden-haired lover initiating a conversation about the meaning of fire in literature. Mui shakes her head rapidly to clear it. "Ooh, here she comes. Good luck!"

Before Nagi can retort, her twin disappears into the kitchen crowd, bouncing curls and all. Kyoko arrives in a little sunhat and pearl sandals, hands cradling a sack of potatoes, shyly peeking down at her peeling partner. The latter greets her with a modest wave.

"Was that your sister just now, Sato-chan?"

"Y-yes, just checking-in. She's supposed to be cutting carrots."

The pretty girl giggles, setting down the bag at their feet. When Nagi compares their hands, she finds that hers have more callouses and feels rather embarrassed. "Twins are so close, I'm a bit jealous."

"Hm?"

A faint pink dusts Kyoko's pale cheeks. Even her nervosity is endearing. "Onii-chan doesn't always tell me everything. I wish he relied on me more."

"I can understand that," Nagi replies. "Mui-nee is keeping things from me too, like… like the things that trouble her."

Amethyst eyes glaze over then; she once believed herself closest to Mui, but lately, that loyalty has been challenged, when her twin stops in the middle of their garden, of the school courtyard, of the street, feeling the wind in her hair and seeing something Nagi fails to. At those times, the little sister is compulsory next to whatever unknown thought is re-lived. The only consolation is knowing that Tsuna, too, cannot fathom the gap.

"You must love her a lot."

"I do," she immediately agrees. "More than she knows."

One, two, three clean potatoes plop at a time into the bucket, the girls quiet in their efforts. The sun is high in the sky, imparting its rays onto the surrounding forest and waters. Soon, Kyoko pipes up again.

"Sometimes you don't notice things when you try too hard to be observant," she says. "I think siblings are meant to worry each other. It's a part of understanding how much we mean to one another. I'm working on that too."

"Buddha-sama...?" Nagi mumbles, squinting at the strawberry blonde girl, whose serene face is a second sun against the background. In that moment, the twin decides that if her crush isn't made of stardust, she will eat these potatoes raw and whole. "You sounded extremely cool just now."

"And you sounded just like my onii-chan!" Kyoko laughs, bumping the potato bucket with her knee. When Nagi dips down to adjust it, the charm in her front pocket slips and falls into the water.

"Ah."

"Here, I'll get it."

Two hands meet halfway in their retrieval as the cake rises back up in all its shiny metal glory. Nagi jumps at the skin contact, flushing a bright red, and Kyoko looks ready to burst at the seams with surprised delight.

"Ara, do you like cakes too, Nagi-chan?" she asks, before gasping. "Is it okay if I call you that?"

"Of c-course! Can I call you Kyoko-chan?"

 _It worked,_ Nagi thinks bemusedly as the conversation turns to sweets. Kyoko is easier to talk to than anticipated. _What the heck, Mui-nee._

"Achoo!"

* * *

The older siblings get along rather nicely too during their first meeting at school; that is, Ryohei yells into Mui's ear and she reflexively punches him in the nose.

As it turns out, in the future, this will be a recurring event, a permanent white bandage covering the scar tissue and establishing the boy's aesthetic.

"Shit, sorry. I thought you were an enemy." Mui reaches out to part his bandaged hands, which hover over his splitting wound, inspecting her handiwork. "Okay, no blood. Don't scare me like that."

Deciding to be extra petty on the spot and test her, Ryohei pretends to faint, colliding head-first into the floor. He keeps his eyes shut and breathing shallow; Mui swears repeatedly at this development, unaware of the shit-eating grin on her supposed victim's face. Her panic rises when she nudges his calf and he fails to respond.

"Oh my God, I killed him!" She looks left and right for an exit point, palms slicking up. "Just my luck, where am I supposed to hide a body?!"

"I'm not dead," the boy finally announces. "That would be an _extremely_ unfortunate situation."

The true misfortune is the kick she sends into his stomach, the joke having boded unwell with her nerves. Ryohei rolls over and groans, berating himself for not believing his little sister.

"Nagi-chan told me that her sister kicked a boxing bag open once!" Kyoko insisted last Saturday. "Onii-chan, I would be careful around those legs."

"What do you want, Sasagawa-kun?"

Back to his energetic self, the boxer boy leaps up and grasps Mui's hands. She is in momentary awe at how his yellow tan compliments her cocoa brown.

"I have decided to protect you to the extreme!"

"Um, what?"

"I said—"

"No, I mean I got your words, but who put them into your head?" Even though she knows that he probably means no harm, all of her red alarms go off as she tries to shake off his hold.

"Kyoko is extremely worried about her friend's sister," he presses, "and I also wanted to get to know the famous Muisou of Namimori!"

"Muisou?" The twin cocks her head. "Like **maisou**? People actually call me that?"

He nods seriously. "Fitting name for a formidable opponent."

Mui can't help but feel pleased at the recognition, even if created out of instilling fear in the hearts of every boy. "I dig it. So what, you want to be partners or something?"

"I want to fight _for_ you," he clarifies. "So you don't have to try so hard anymore. That, and Kyoko will be happy!"

"Hate to break it to you, but I fly solo." She frees her hands at last, gesturing to her recent scrapes and crossing her arms in a show of resolve. "If you want to fight, I can do that, but I'm not going to stop just because you think I can't handle a bruise or two."

Despite a lack of filter, Ryohei is quick to pick up on emotions, throwing himself into a bow and startling Mui with his submission. He briefly thinks about how their conversation started, and why a fifth grader would use words like enemy. Does she have many? Who are they? What was her life like, to have reached this point?

"I extremely apologize if I offended you!" he says. "I didn't mean to question your abilities, you are your own person. Can we at least be friends?"

Before the girl can reply, someone barrels down the hallway and right into her.

" _Mui!_ "

"Oof!" The pair is sent crashing to the ground, limbs sprawled one on top of the other. "Tsuna?"

"T-they took Nagi a-and Kyoko-chan," he cries into her shoulder. She feels his unhappiness wrack her whole body, never having seen him this distraught before and pulling him up to get a better look. There is a long cut running down his exposed collarbone, a black eye acclimating on his peachy complexion.

"Who?" she whispers dangerously. "Who did this?"

Mui peers up at Ryohei, who pales considerably. It seems that he knows the assailants, maybe even personally. "It can't be… those high schoolers..."

Of course. Just their luck.

Then, a thought appears; a crazy, but workable idea. "Okay, here's the plan. Namimori's Disciplinary Committee..."

* * *

 **Vocabulary:** maisou (burial)

 **Question:** Would you prefer a reformed Mukuro, or the same bad boy pineapple?


	5. Chapter 5: On Evaluating Hope, Final

**A/N:** We have some new appearances woo! I replaced Ryohei's peer fight with the high schoolers, hope y'all enjoy it and that this chapter clears up some confusion. It probably raises questions too though, hehe. Your responses about Mukuro made me laugh, so I also put in a taste of both the cruel boy we're used to and a friendlier version. Shoutouts to: **the aspiring cynic** , **sousie** , and **GuestEtha** for consistent feedback! Love you guys.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but Mui. Japanese/Italian is in bold!

 **Edit: 10/22/17**

* * *

"Just for once, I hope that my absence made them feel lonely."

—Kim Tan, from _The Heirs_

* * *

 _Chapter 5: On Evaluating Hope, Final Part_

Namimori's junkyard is a metal beast made of collapsing skyscrapers, structures of burnt tires, broken glass, and bundled garbage melting off its back and polluting the air with a scent reminiscent of spoilt durian. The two elementary school students sit side by side against an abandoned fridge like lambs thrown into a lion's den, their kidnappers circling the area and playing card games; one bulky teenager, who appears younger than the rest, fiddles with a switchblade while keeping watch.

"Nagi-chan, are you scared?"

"Yeah, but Tsuna-kun went to find help." Pale, peachy cheeks stretch painfully in an attempt to smile, the bruise on the right side of a jaw throbbing. Nagi's attempt to fight back was clearly not well-thought out. "Mui-nee probably knows by now."

"Ah, onii-chan said something about meeting her today. They probably won't get along."

"Why's that?"

"They're two different extremes."

Both friends laugh at the pun. "You know, I imagined our first truancy differently, more…"

"Romantic?" Kyoko jokes.

The cheeks get a little redder at the implication, Nagi poking her in the side. "Geez, you and Mui-nee would hit it off so well."

"I'd like that! When are you going to properly introduce us?"

Before the twin can comment that they sound like a bunch of newly-weds, the guard asks, "Hey, what are you two bickering about over there?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Nagi mutters, and Kyoko stifles a giggle into her coat.

Instead of lashing out, he comes over and sits by the girls, scratching his head guiltily. The two strangest things about him, from first glance, are the twig in his mouth and the black pompadour atop his head. The hair, as if it has a mind of its own, bounces fervently at the slightest movement.

"Sorry, didn't mean to be nosy. You must be uncomfortable on the ground."

The children blink, confused by the admission. Did kidnappers usually act like this?

"It's okay. You don't seem to like your job much either," Kyoko observes.

"Yeah, you look too nice," Nagi adds. She leaves out the word funny, lest a nerve be struck.

"You think so?" He seems put out by the lack of intimidation, but then suddenly peers over his shoulder, checking for extra ears, before leaning in with a gleam in his eyes; upon further inspection, he's actually tearing up. The twig wilts between his teeth.

"The truth is, you're both right. I'm trapped. I wake up every day feeling miserable about myself. I don't have a job, I don't have many friends, and I don't like my body. Not one bit. I'm not doing that well in school either, but kaa-san expects me to get into Namimori High. Really, these days I look in the mirror, and all I see is failure."

A conventional tumbleweed enters the frame, followed by a cartoon raven _caw-cawing_ overhead. Nagi moves to say something, but Kyoko beats her to it, reaching to pat a broad shoulder.

"That's so sad! You must have more confidence in yourself! I like…" She searches for the right words, nudging Nagi for an idea; a finger points subtly at his head. "… your hair! It gives you character."

"Your voice sounds good too, for like reading aloud."

"Leather jackets are in this season."

"If you're falling behind in school, my nee-chan can tutor you."

"Maybe we can try the gym together, but only if you're comfortable. You do have the makings of a weightlifter's body!"

"You kids are so kind," the boy sniffles. Kyoko produces a blue handkerchief out of thin air, like she saw this exact moment coming, despite being simultaneously caught off-guard. "You d-don't know how much this means to me."

"Why is a big softie like you hanging out with this mean crowd?"

"When I-I look at Shimano-senpai, I feel like all the scary things in my life will fade away… I feel stronger."

Two sympathetic expressions manifest, and then a lightbulb goes off.

"Ara, did you know that according to The Criminal Code of Japan, in Article 224, people who kidnap minors will be imprisoned and have to work for a year or more?" Kyoko nods sagely, her inner policewoman shining through. She omits the part about being of legal age, but the overall message is driven home as the guard pales. He hadn't thought of getting into trouble. "The crime will also go on your record. Do you want your life to change, just like that?"

"N-no ma'am!" he replies, a salute in his voice. "I'm not a bad guy!"

"That's right, you can do so much better," the twin agrees. "What's your name?"

"Kusakabe Tetsuya. What about y—"

"Oi, Kusakabe! Are you talking to the prisoners?" The ringleader of the delinquents walks over, holding a wooden bokken against her hip. Like a blast from the past, she sports a **ganguro** look, rainbow hair extensions and spray tan blinding against the clear spring sky. Nagi pulls an offended face for her absent sister.

"Shimano-senpai, they're just children," Kusakabe defends. "It's not fair to make them stay here, they haven't done anything wrong."

Pink combat boots crunch into the sediment as the high schooler draws closer. Her sword comes down, nearly taking off the pompadour as her subordinate falls back. The other students, finishing their round of strip poker, jump at the sound. "Pipe down, fresh meat, and lookie here. This one's sister fucked up my baby bro, and this other kid's sibling is the most annoying little shit in the morning. Who runs at the asscrack of dawn for _boxing?_ It takes me three hours to get ready, I don't need his voice as an alarm."

"T-to be fair, my hair takes the same time—"

" _Silence!_ " The bokken hits the ground repeatedly, its owner throwing a small tantrum; comical, if not for the threat behind her words. "I'm killing two birds with one stone here, don't take this away from me!"

Kyoko reaches for Nagi's hand in the settling dust, to stop herself from trembling, and her friend squeezes back in reassurance.

"They'll be here any minute now," she says. "Don't worry."

"Heh, so you think your sister's going to come save you?" Shimano sneers, her expression a spectacle of contempt. "I guess before she comes, I should give you a parting gift. I'm sure she won't mind if you and Kenma have matching stitches."

With that, she punches Kusakabe's ribs and grabs his switchblade, the stainless steel winking at the children, who back up into the fridge, cornered against the plastic. The students in the background rise from their spots, uneasily calling for their leader to reconsider; they hadn't expected this escalation.

"R-run kids…" Kusakabe tries to drag himself forward, in an effort to get the weapon away, but his torso screams in protest. Shimano kicks him for extra measure.

"Get ready, brats. You ain't getting away unpunished."

The panic begins to set in. At knife point, Nagi remembers the key to the basement, dangling from her mother's slender neck like an unanswered prayer. At the tangible hatred, she remembers her stepfather smashing vases into walls, yearning to break one over her head but unwilling to risk arrest. At Kyoko's little whimper, she remembers every single time she pulled Mui back into the light; every single time she wiped the sweat and tears away; every single time she lost more of her sister to whatever was eating her from within.

And ironically, it is in this moment that she meets a terrible ally, a mischievous voice very different from her own, as though coming from a submerged distance, whispering dark things.

 _The oppressed know the oppressors more than they know themselves, wouldn't you agree?_

What? Who?

 _Don't let my thoughts alarm you. I'm only amplifying your own understanding, Nagi-chan._

Nagi feels something dig into her free hand and peers down to see a thick shard of glass, pressed dangerously against her palm. When did that get there?

 _Go on, take away the things that cause you fear._

"I…"

 _Mui will be proud of a sister who can finally defend herself._

At this, the twin blanches, searching for an argument and cropping up with nothing. The recognition sounds enticing, from her most loved and admired person. Yes, that's right, why shouldn't she get rid of the problem? This will save her twin time, time she can spend talking to and teaching Nagi, like she used to frequently do. Amethyst eyes become unseeing and trance-like, the light slowly dimming away; she does not feel Kyoko nervously jostle her arm, as the grip on her new weapon tightens.

 _Are you going to let her hurt you?_

"No."

 _Do you want to take back your freedom?_

"More than anything."

 _Then we fight._

Shimano wields the knife and lunges at the girls; it all happens very quickly. Somewhere, between point A and point B, Nagi lets go of Kyoko and aims for a jugular vein, an indigo gas slowly oozing from her fingers and pores.

And then a black-haired, demon prefect appears, flying into the back of the bully, who chokes at the impact, blade thrown into a pile of rusty bolts. She falls face-first into the dirt, bleached hair splayed out like a cobra's nest.

Now, Hibari Kyoya may not be the average hero; in fact, he leads a rather delinquent life himself, but the resident skylark definitely knows how to make a grand entrance. Even after taking down the kidnappers and leaving a trail of broken appendages in his wake, he barely breaks a sweat, pressing a foot into the back of the ringleader to make sure she stays down.

Nagi stops in her tracks when he appears, the fog clearing from her mind and the voice retreating in dismay. _N_ _ext time_ , it promises.

"Glass?" she numbly murmurs, dropping the object like a scalding pan and inspecting some newly formed cuts across her palm.

"Are you Sato Nagi and Sasagawa Kyoko?"

Hibari straightens out his white dress shirt, rolls his neck, and turns to the abductees, the fringe in the center of his face casting a shadow over bored gray eyes. There is an angry red mark on his left cheek, lip split at one corner and lithe form looking a little worse for wear, as though having arrived from a previous brawl.

"Y-yes," Kyoko answers. "Who…?"

" _Nagi!_ "

" _Kyoko!_ "

From the entrance of the junkyard, three smaller figures part the crowd, bodies similarly battered up.

Mui spots her twin first, crushing her to a taut breast and heaving a great sigh of relief. She smells like iron and bread and _home_. Nagi recognizes herself then, tears building as her hands come to return the embrace, breath stabilizing. On her other side, Ryohei and Tsuna rendezvous with Kyoko, the big brother waving off the blood running along his face.

"You c-came for us," Nagi cries.

"Of course I did, silly." A kiss on the forehead and nose, checking for wounds, eyes narrowing at the jaw bruise and bleeding hand. "Thank you for being strong. Does it hurt anywhere else?"

A rapid headshake, followed by an enduring smile and tightening grip; she never wants to let go ever again. As an afterthought, Nagi leaves out the voice in her head and how a glass shard found its way into her grasp; how she was ready to fatally wound someone. "You're here now, that's all that matters…" She trails off when she finally gets a good look at her older sister. "Wait, why do you have a black eye? And this cut…?"

"Herbivore." Hibari approaches with the swagger of a man on a mission.

"Batman," Mui greets, casually standing between the oncoming force and her younger sister. The middle schooler raises an eyebrow at the vigilante nickname, but wordlessly presses on, until they are uncomfortably inches apart. "You were a great asset today. Need me for clean-up?"

"No." He snaps his fingers, and out of thin air, a group of suit-clad men march into the area, dragging away the overthrown high schoolers, some of whom sustain broken bones and concussions. Kyoko is helping Kusakabe sit up; the teen seems perplexed by the turn of events, mouth having not closed since Hibari appeared. Later that evening, he will chase Hibari all the way into yakuza territory and officially become a member of the Namimori Disciplinary Committee.

"I… don't even want to know what hole in the wall they crawled out of," Mui comments. Behind her, Nagi notices the goosebumps lining brown arms in anticipation, or maybe even fear. The twins make eye contact then, an unspoken promise to talk later as Nagi runs over to their friends, leaving the two fighters to their privacy.

"I've kept my part of the deal," the skylark begins, "now join the Disciplinary Committee."

"How do you spell that? N-o?" Mui replies. "Hibari-san, you are in what, second year at Namimori Middle? I am a fifth grader."

"That has not stopped you from disturbing the peace."

"You make it sound like I'm _proud_ of beating other children up." She pulls the same offended face as her imouto. "Your promotion of safety through youth violence isn't exactly legal either."

With his slight height advantage, he peers down his nose, challenging her with an 'I-am-above-the-law' stare. She squints right back, both in disbelief and amusement, admiring the long eyelashes and slight underbite secretly. _His ancestor was a lot less dangerous_ , goes the unsaid, rebellious memory.

"I don't like repeating myself."

"But all great men tend to repeat themselves, repeat themselves, repeat—"

A tonfa almost wipes the smile clean off her face, missing by a curl. Mui dives to the right and scrambles for footing, just as he swings again and makes a small crater where her legs had previously been. Needle-like spikes rise from the metal like the fine quills of an agitated porcupine.

" _Submit_ , or I'll bite you to death."

"Did you not get enough last time?!" she pants, patience thinning and stepping away from a roundhouse kick. "It's like you have no nerves in that pretty face."

He attempts to lop her head at the comment, achieving a rather manic look in his eyes; maybe she did hit a metaphorical nerve.

"Can we just talk this out—"

Right as the words leave her mouth, the mixed child trips on air, successfully planting herself between a discarded truck wheel and Hibari. At her vulnerability, he takes the chance to throw a tonfa into her face, to which she swears under her breath and waits.

But the hit never comes, Mui gazing up in horror at the pained expression of Tsuna, who has an arm slung around her in the nick of time. The skylark's weapon is sticking out of that same arm, a cross with hooked edges caught in his bicep, the impact making a resounding _crack_.

Yet, despite the mutilation, in that moment the eleven year-old seems larger than life.

"Stop it," he commands. "No means _no_. Learn to live with that."

"Wao," Hibari hums, cracking a tiny smile at the display of power. If there is one thing the teen can appreciate, it is bared teeth and pride.

Having decided the match concluded, he carelessly tugs out his tonfa, regarding the blood spotting an orange shirt like a red dissolving into the sunset, and addresses a startled Mui with a final warning: "I can wait, but not for long, Sato Mui."

It takes everything in Ryohei, who couldn't find the right opportunity to join the fray, to keep himself in line and not pick another fight with the retreating skylark; so much for having a rich boy's help. To make up for his own absence, the white-haired child joins his fellow injured children and gives Tsuna a huge thumbs-up, Kyoko and Nagi following close behind.

"That looks extremely bad, but you did good Sawada!" he announces, like he won't have lasting scars too, particularly on his left temple; his sister facepalms at his obliviousness.

"It was nothing, onii-san." The praised boy still has a firm grip around Mui, who squirms in his hold as she tries to get a good look at his injuries.

"Nothing my ass, Tsushimi. That was the most reckless thing you've done yet. I can take care of myself."

"If that's what taking care of yourself looks like, I will _gladly_ break my arm again and again to change it!" Tsuna whirls on her, all fury and desperation, and some kind of depthless sadness. "Please, let me save you sometimes too. Let me be useful."

The strangest things are capable of triggering memories, this moment being one of them. Caramel eyes, not yet old enough to comprehend the world, stare back at Mui with resistance and truth. She isn't sure when he became capable of such sternness, but then she remembers that children emulate the most influential people in their lives; he must've picked it up from her… or someone from long, long ago.

The _thump-thump-thump_ rhythm of Mui's heart is ceaseless, as if it were beating right at the base of her throat; roaring like thunder, a sledgehammer to her chest. The figure in her dreams grows clearer at the forefront of her mind, and she now fully sees the black woman, _herself_ , smiling up at a golden man dressed in an impeccable pinstripe suit. They are dancing under the influence of wine in their library, speaking in soft, happy voices about changing the world one adopted child at a time.

This happens right after the time she discovers that her womb is barren, but it only leaves more room for the love between two of the most awkward mafiosos in existence.

"I want an equal amount of boys and girls, enough to fill a house and fall asleep to giggling and crying.

"Well," his hands slide to her waist, pulling her flush against him, "we spend enough 'quality time' together to make that a reality, Dora."

"Scandalous, Giozo. Absolutely scandalous."

"You wound me! Is a man not allowed to worship his wife-to-be?"

"I need sleep too, you silly man!"

 _Ah_ , Mui thinks, _I'm glad he did have children without me._

Internally, she is bemused and hurt that this is her first observation, but at the core, it is the one that drives everything home; the fact that all these years of misplaced memories, of seeing other people in family and friends, of wanting to burn the world away, of feeling the closest in mentality with Kawahira, originated from the woman who died in her sister's arms on her wedding day.

She has been a hundred and eleven and thirty and nothing but air all at once, tastes different languages on her tongue that merely bubbled in the back of her throat before, loved and hated and cried for different people. Mukuro was right: the mafia began her life, and ended it just as quickly.

While the newly realized person falls silent in thought, Tsuna begins to panic, berating himself for having run with his anger. Yes, it wasn't right for Mui to worry him or put herself in danger, but she was his biggest supporter. Why did he open his big mouth?

"Tsunayoshi," she finally calls. A shiver runs down the boy's spine at her deeper intonation, the beginnings of a lopsided grin on her face. She seems to have come to some distant but absolute conclusion, the likes of which Tsuna isn't sure he can fathom. "Let's go home."

He pouts at her sudden nonchalance. "Did you hear a word I sa—"

In a matter of seconds, his legs are swept from under his nose and he is in a bridal-style carry. Ryohei whistles at the development, Nagi and Kyoko exchanging smiles; the three of them have been eating imaginary popcorn, positively beaming at the unfolding drama. Soon enough, they will have their own crisis at hand, with the older Sasagawa fainting from blood loss and his imouto beginning her "police training" by dragging her brother to the hospital.

"Bwa?!" Tsuna's good arm automatically hooks onto her neck for balance. "Mui, put me down! I-I can walk on m—"

He is silenced by a half-hearted but practiced glare, feeling incredibly ill all of a sudden as his friend marches off. "If you so much as shift that arm, I will personally re-break it, and if you pull a stunt like this again, even if you care about me, _I'm gonna burn your house_. Understood?"

Tsuna still finds it in himself to retort, "You know, people normally say 'thank you.'"

She pauses, pretending to contemplate the request, expression unreadable, before sending a spark into the crook of his bad arm, electricity coursing through his nerves. He feels the jolt too late and screams into her shoulder all the way to the doctor, the brown girl cheerful at his expense.

Privately, Mui promises to prepare him for everything that is to come.

* * *

Kawahira blinks back his un-surprise when two children shuffle into his store; he is running a midnight shift, the typical town newspaper propped up against his glass counter and a fan in hand. Giving the girls a once-over, he sets everything down.

"Good kids are in bed by nine."

"Do we even remotely fit that description?" Nagi giggles, looking through the fabrics section. She recently learned how to sew with Mui and Kyoko, both of whom found great pleasure in seeing her prick every available finger.

"No, but it was worth a try. There are more supplies in the back, as well as the new Gudetama imports."

The younger twin claps and makes a beeline straight for his storage room, her sister falling behind to engage with the white-haired store owner. He feels something shift in the air as she sits by him, like a changing of seasons.

"So do you like being white or Japanese more?"

"Checker Face is one life, and this is another. I have explained this before…"

And then it clicks: _Dora_ , not Mui, is asking.

"Did Giozo marry a good woman?"

He takes off his spectacles, cleaning them slowly with the sleeve of his kimono. She pulls no punches and he dodges no bullets. Now, where to begin…

"Her name was Tamura Mashiro and she worked as a florist. Coincidentally, they met when Giotto was purchasing a rare type of flower for your grave, maybe the fourth year after your death. They named their child Aiko and christened her Amadora later on, with the help of Knuckle. He may or may not have had more children, as it was difficult to even raise one."

She remains silent, processing the story as water drips from one of the store's top pipes to the beat of her quiet thoughts.

"How long have you been back?"

"I think I knew from the first conscious moment that I was someone else, born in the wrong generation," she replies, "but specifically speaking, a boy named Mukuro was the initial trigger."

"Ah, Daemon Spade's legacy. Did he tamper with your mind?"

Mui shakes her head, bridging her hands together in a denim lap. "Mukuro urged me to remember. In this life, we met in a dream, but in other ones, the cycles and realms beyond mere human existence, we were old friends. I want to help him when I can. He has died six times over, enough to make any person become the embodiment of hatred."

"But you don't hate the mafia like him," Kawahira observes, reading her mind. "Not even after it killed you, and not any more than you did when we created the treaty. After all, it gave Sepira the platform to create peace and for you to meet Primo."

"Is that what they call him now? God, he is a bozo to the end of time."

Her friend smiles at the sentiment. "Is his descendant just as bad?"

"On the contrary, I find Tsuna a precious balance," she rambles, "though he gets himself into the worst situations. Naturally unlucky, maybe? I guided him in the right direction for school though, so I think one of these days, he'll be one of the smartest people alive. He is like a carbon copy of Giozo, soft-natured and thoughtful, but also hard-headed and sassy—"

"Like you. Your influence on this family is astounding."

"You know, I'm glad that I didn't marry him. A mafia don looks the best with a clean record of love." She feels the familiar prickle behind her eyes, and soon enough, the emotions carve tragedy into her face. Kawahira has a hand on her back as the heartbreak and hiccups set in. The unsteady rise and fall of her chest and the poor lighting make her look more like a part of the wooden wall than a person, and he's sure that she wants to disappear, even for just a little while.

"I'm sure that h-he has paved the p-path for many good generations. I'm g-glad that he d-didn't become a widower, th-that I didn't become his unhappiness."

"Dora, you were never a burden to him," he soothes. "The memory of you encouraged him to be better and live a full life."

A fabricated heart unravels, as though it were a lie from the very start; on someone so young, the unmistakable expression of loss is displaced and terrifying. The adult wraps his arms around her, and for the rest of their time together, he fills her in on the things she missed, like the end of Cozarto Simon, the chosen Arcobaleno, little Lucy's inheritance of the Giglio Nero, Kawahira having a daughter of his own, the rise and fall of histories.

By the time Nagi returns with her needed supplies, the century-old companions are back to their cynical, bickering selves, not an expression moved from where the baby sister left them. If she notices that the two people have puffy eyes, she says nothing.

"I'm telling you, customers should not be rushed with these things, Kawasabi."

"I reserve the right to refuse service to children who spend two hours loitering in the snack aisle." The newspaper comes at Mui's head with a _plonk._ "And for the last time, I eat noodles, not sushi. Stop giving people these dumb nicknames."

"Angsty creature."

"Shitty brat."

"Isn't this getting old?"

* * *

The annual **Natsu Matsuri** is a bright extravaganza of street foods, red lanterns, and firework designs, the air thick and dreamlike with the energy of drumbeats. Though a relatively small, peaceful town, Namimori is really 'go-big-or-go-home' with celebrations.

A party of students, donned in various yukatas, weave their way through the adults and vendors. At the head, Mui is talking animatedly with Yamamoto Takeshi and the Sasagawa siblings, every child producing one funny story about themselves. Ryohei, as he is prone to impulsivity, discharged himself from the hospital against everyone's wishes, but even that mishap is forgotten amidst the joy.

"Watch out, Muisou!" he announces. "Kyoko's coming for you one of these days. She's got all the laws memorized and even carried me to the hospital by herself!"

"Well, she couldn't very well just leave you to die," Mui replies, sending a conspiratory smirk to the future policewoman next to her. "Actually, maybe I _should_ be more vigilant. This one's already becoming a part of the family."

Takeshi's brown eyes sparkle with mirth, having caught onto the joke. "But who is the bride during the wedding? Do they both wear dresses?"

"Yeah, they'll both be brides! I want to lead the reception planning—"

"Mui-chan! Yamamoto-kun!" Kyoko blushes. "Nagi-chan isn't, we're not—"

" _What?!_ I was extremely uninformed of this!" Ryohei places his bandaged hands on his sister's shoulders, a serious set to his brows. He is trying very hard not to laugh at the absolute look of dread on her face. "I will be the most extreme flower boy, don't you worry."

"Not you too, onii-chan. And you're supposed to walk me down the aisle!"

"Let's not sweat the details. Come to my bosom, imouto!"

The girl makes an unhappy sound from her pursed lips and turns away with a pout.

"Did you just click your tongue at me, young lady?"

"You're all under arrest for conspiring against me."

"Eh, prison hasn't stopped me before," Mui notes. She claps a hand over her mouth when three questioning gazes put her on the spot. "I mean, er, prison wouldn't stop me from getting the biggest cake in the city! Ha ha…"

"You're strange, Muisou," Takeshi comments, and she begins to sweat at the perceptive gleam in his stare, like he knows she's keeping a secret.

"Yeah, well, not all of us make-out with their baseball bat in the locker rooms either, so there."

"I-I do not!"

"Does the world get better when you lie to yourself?"

Behind the bantering group, the other half of the wedding is trying to make eye contact with Tsuna, who appears to be glaring at her twin's back. He's been at it for a good thirty minutes already.

"Tsuna, your face is scary tonight."

"It's the same as always, what are you talking about?"

"Did something happen with my sister?"

"Why? Did she say something?"

"You're so easy to read," Nagi laughs. "The creases on your forehead are amazing."

The eleven year-old sighs in defeat, rubbing circles into his temple and trying to dispel the apparent displeasure. He needs to get better at hiding his emotions.

"Earlier, Mui came to my house to drop off a gift…" Tsuna confesses, "… _through the window_. The actual window! She climbed the wall and broke the glass."

"Mui-nee lives on the edge."

"Exactly!" he agrees. "What if she injured her hand or fell off and broke something? It's like she does these things without thinking."

"Sounds like someone else I know." The petite girl stares pointedly at Tsuna's cast, to which the boy's face heats up.

 _He's less concerned about his window,_ she thinks, _and more concerned about Mui-nee; how cute._

"This and that are different."

"Whatever you say. You and Mui-nee are very similar people, so you're bound to be hypocritical with each other."

"She never takes me seriously," he mumbles defensively.

"And you don't have enough faith in her," Nagi presses. "I think you both need a long talk about this. Take the first step, get her alone and eat some takoyaki together."

At that moment, the young Yamamoto actually proposes the very idea to the group, dragging the children to the food stand, and Nagi decides to initiate her plans.

Just as Tsuna brings up the rear, she sticks an agile foot in his way and he flies right into Mui, who easily catches the boy in her arms. When he collects himself, confident that his face _isnotonfireIdidn'tfeelthatsquish_ , he meets her deep, deep eyes, like orchids held up to a starry night sky. The brown girl smiles down at him, and though he feels furiously embarrassed by the height difference, he can't help but reciprocate the happiness.

"Now how did you wind up tripping?" she asks, patting his head and noticing her sister disappear behind Kyoko; the strawberry blonde mischievously grins as well, the tricksters. "Have we decided to become Dame-Tsuna again?"

The youth straightens out and huffs, "Never! I can hold my own now."

Secretly, a part of him wants her to keep patting his head, to make him forget his worries, for simply being in her presence seems to have the most calming effect on his disposition.

"Oh no, a cockroach!" Mui feigns, earning a scream from Tsuna as he jumps back into her arms.

"Hiieee! Where?! Where—" The joke becomes apparent at her snicker and he punches her in the shoulder. " _Mui!_ "

"Wow, one of these days, you'll hit harder than I do." She turns to the menu nonchalantly, unwinding from the embrace. Soon, the cashier takes her order of two and hands her change. "Summer vacation's almost over. How do you feel about being a sixth grader?"

"I'm excited for the graduation trip," he says, genuinely giddy at the prospect. "We're taking the train to Kyoto!"

"Pfft, typical Tsushimi," Mui teases. "You barely just learned how to ride a bike, and now you want to take the train. So when were you planning to tell me that you got mostly A's last term?"

"How do you always find out?!" Tsuna yelps. "I haven't even told kaa-san yet."

"I get regular reports from Susume-sensei, of course. She says you worked so hard, the library gave you a gold membership."

"I struggled a lot," he relents finally, uncertainty in his voice, "but I guess I did it."

"You mean 'I nailed it.' I'm so proud of you, reading at high school level!"

It's on the tip of his tongue to disagree, but he doesn't want to lose the praise, _her_ praise, so soon. His learning disability set him back for over half his life, and he hasn't been able to catch up to Mui yet, but the acknowledgment feels deserved.

Mui places a boat of takoyaki in his outstretched hands, giving his head a sidelong caress and chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her mouth. Did she always touch him like this too? Tonight has been all kinds of new. "Hmm, we should probably go find a place to sit."

"Speaking of which, where did everyone go?"

"Wait what? Did they ditch us?" Tsuna points at the empty space beside them and the girl does an exasperated double-take, vowing to later scold the other children. Her friend feels a tingling where her fingers brushed his earlobes. "So annoying. Okay, stay here, I'll try to find them—"

Mui feels resistance on her green yukata sleeve and, upon glimpsing the source, is met with a familiar earnesty.

"Stay," Tsuna murmurs, like they are the only two people in this colorful world, riding on faint hopes carried by the summer breeze.

A breath hitches above him, the dark-skinned beholder compelled to listen to the one-worded request of a boy who is becoming just as much of a blazing sky as her two most important people in another life; a promise in the rain, to see the land of the rising sun. When he eventually looks down at his tight grip, he releases it hurriedly and scrambles for an explanation, cheeks alight with pink distress. To the dazed Mui, the hue suits him phenomenally.

"Ah I-I mean, w-we can eat together and then m-maybe watch the fireworks! Unless y-you don't want to, which would m-make me sad, I mean no! Yes! Well, because I r-really want to keep talking to you, but uh…"

"Okay," Mui answers, heart beating to a fond tune. "Just the two of us, that sounds nice."

"Oh… oh, you actually said okay." Tsuna is the picture of incredulous bliss. "Yeah, just the two of us," he repeats confidently, as the first firework goes off above them.

* * *

After the dry season finishes its dance, the first showers of September break over Namimori like the uneven, stomping _pitter-patter_ of a toddler chasing after her parent.

In the wake of the rain, the distinct smell of petrichor clings to the clothes of every resident hurrying to work or school, including Mui, who slept in for the first time in years. Her sleep-talking self urged an exasperated Nagi to leave without her, and as she stumbles down the street alone, olive umbrella wobbling overhead, the average passerby looks on, confused by the Italian swears coming out of her mouth.

" **Che cavolo!** " The brown girl nearly runs herself into a pole, sneakers sliding across the slick pavement. "We have a math test today, how could I forget? Mukuro, that silly bastard."

Indeed, from a while back, the boy had begun to seek her out through dreams, whether in a vacant wilderness or a breathable ocean or a rose garden of his own creation, perpetually wearing his signature smirk. After her memories began to return, his visits became increasingly consistent as their bond reformed, his illusions growing more realistic.

"Where in the world are you anyway?" Mui asked, walking with an arm laced through his own. She worried immensely that he hadn't fully escaped the experiments, his body still as pale and lanky as she left him the first time. "America? Italy? You've never visited me once in person, so you can't be in Japan. "

When Mui and Mukuro were both floating in the afterlife, two lost souls waiting for the call beyond the haze, she would tell him about the outside world and the childhood he was missing, about the niece she left behind and all of her handmade toys, and he would tell her about his captors and the development of his indigo flames. From the landscapes she told him about, particularly those of Europe, Mukuro would project them into the spaces they occupied, his mists blooming into surreal architecture and trees, like playing a mini God.

"A dark place today, another one tomorrow, so nothing new," he answered, deliberately vague. "Kufufu, don't worry Dora. I know survival like the back of my hand. I have big plans for the future."

"Smooth talker." She took his secretive side in stride, brushing his bangs aside to kiss his forehead. He felt a momentary guilt in his heart, for failing to tell her about his recent connection to her sister; how he wanted to test his possession capabilities and used her as his first medium, out of pure jealousy; that, and the younger girl also had an affinity to mist. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to divulge that information either.

"I'd hate to end this interrogation, but it's time for you to wake up again. Have a nice day, Dora."

"Hey wait, I'm not done with—"

And before she knew it, Mukuro had thrown her into a hectic morning, far removed from the blissful stroll they'd taken through the night. She would be cursing him to kingdom come at this rate, son of a pineapple!

Mui misses a turn on the next block, deciding last minute to cut through someone's yard and pass up the bus stop. Her uniform is soaked through and weighs down her rush. On the side of the street, traffic lights shifting over the intersection, she spots a lean figure standing on the curb in aimless contemplation.

If people look closely at his back, they will notice the freshly gnarled nubs of what seem to be wings protruding, as though ripped from his body just this day, perhaps even an hour ago. The rain moves over him in soft waves of gossamer, white hair falling into a fair face, and the late student pauses to watch him, drawn to his light. She has never seen someone so delicate before, at least not in Namimori.

And maybe this is mistake number one, believing that he needs protection. The second mistake, not long after, is acting on that instinct.

For unbeknownst to her, he is the beginning of the end.

Just as quickly as he appears, the boy walks into the path of an oncoming motorcycle, and the daydreams disappear as Mui dashes forward.

There is something almost morbidly familiar about this, the way the world slows down and someone screams, silver streams of water coveting the moment; perhaps, like the way she meaninglessly died all those centuries ago, in the same conditions. Without a word spoken, the solemn ceremony begins, umbrella discarded, responsibilities forgotten; all that remains is them.

Her lightning flames activate under the stress, shielding the side of her body that comes in contact with the vehicle as she throws herself over the youth, like an empty sail that takes the rapid winds. The pair hit the curb in one clean _shwooop_ , nestled between the crosswalk light and a street lamp as the motorcyclist speeds off with a dirty shout.

Minutes go by as the mixed child tangles a mocha hand in snowy locks, breathing harshly and blinking out the rain. She can feel a throbbing in her thigh and shoulder, maybe some small abrasions here and there, as this skin is not as used to hardening as her old one.

"I'm not going to school today," Mui groans, trying to pull herself up with her suicidal rescue. "Just what do you think you're doing, jumping in front of…"

She trails off at the curious lilac eyes peering down at her between thick white lashes, memorizing everything from her wild curls to the bewilderment etched into her brow. At his scrutiny, the twin feels self-conscious, though equally fascinated with his glowing visage.

His hands come up to hold her face when he speaks. "Why did you save me?"

"Huh? What kind of dumb questi—"

The gentle grip turns harsh, like everything he holds dear is on the line, like he needs this confirmation, and she winces at the contact. He repeats, slowly, "Why did you save me?"

"Because you have your whole life ahead of you! Don't you have family? Who wants to go to a young person's funeral?!" She has her fingers around his forearms, shaking the absurdity out of him. The anger burns through her veins, liquid fire sizzling with her flames, which seem to spark at each word. "Look, sometimes your situation carves out a person you don't want to be, but things will get better. Whatever's bothering you now does not mean that you should lose hope, and if it turns out that you're still stuck in a bad situation years from now, then I'll… I'll somehow bail you out, okay? I'll save you again! You just can't die, you hear me?"

Mui is heaving by the end of her speech, brittle sheen of calm melting with the rain. She knows absolutely nothing about this stranger, feels imprudent for giving this advice, but she remembers painfully the life she barely lived, the life mourned by her loved ones, and she sees it all inside of this boy. He could be better than her.

At her passion, he startles a little, as if returning to their reality from some detached plane, and suddenly smiles at her, face splitting with astonishing desire as he lowers her head to the pavement; she is too tired and amazed to protest, watching his every angelic movement.

"Mui, you haven't changed one bit," goes the gentle voice again, before he collapses onto her chest.

Ignoring why he possibly knows her name, Mui thinks fast. _I need_ _to get him help, but hospital or home? I wish Nagi was here, she's so good at first-aid._ The girl panics then, rising to check for wounds like her sister would. There is a faint pulse, subtle but steady, and no outward signs of trauma. Is he sustaining inner injuries?

A rustle next to them alerts her to a witness, purple gaze snapping up to see her classmate Kurokawa Hana under a red umbrella, blowing a huge orange bubble and popping it onto her nose.

They stare at each other in different degrees of surprise, before the new arrival breaks the silence casually, through her layer of gum, "do you, uh, need help? My house is like two minutes from here."

* * *

 **Vocabulary:** ganguro (late 90's fashion trend; literally translates to "black face"), Natsu Matsuri (summer festival), Che cavolo! (literally translates to "what cabbage!" but means "what the hell!")

 **Question:** In the series, what did you think of Byakuran?


	6. Chapter 6 The Kids Don't Wanna Come Home

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but Mui.

 **Warning:** implications of mental illness & suicide

* * *

"My heart is so tired."

—Markus Zusak, _The Book Thief_

* * *

 _Chapter 6: The Kids Don't Wanna Come Home_

From a bedroom window in the Kurokawa residence, Mui stares out into the rain, watching as one by one watery stars streak down the pane and freckle the glass; they are soundless, taunting fragments of an old life led in shadow. Longingly, the brown girl follows their trail, reaches out and…

There!

 _1623, Syracuse, Sicily. The old family estate._

Rainy night, night tremors, tremors in the rain.

Dora has a nightmare about the future, recoiling and floundering helplessly in her green blanket. Dark hands embrace nothing as they rise and fall in the air.

There are seven coffins at her feet, the crisp sound of shovelling welting her skin; though barren and motionless, the prospects of those buried in caskets frightens her more than being laid to rest herself, by the imaginary gravedigger. An invisible force tugs her closer and closer to the open graves, bones and muscles pulled at their seams. To release the involuntary dance, she takes a huge gulp of air and swims to the conscious surface, putting the frenzy past her in the candle light.

 _Who could those coffins be for? No, no, I don't want to know._

 _It can't be them; I won't let it be them._

As she mulls over the prophesized agony in a cold sweat, a soft bundle of warmth crawls into her lap. Dora giggles at the sensation of gray fur pooling over her nightgown. Her tabby knows her distress and acts as its sponge, soaking up the oncoming tears; he is the dampness over dry earth, seeping slowly in and promising something beautiful will soon grow with time. She holds him close, lulled by affectionate purring.

Minutes after his appearance, someone bursts through the door with an actual shovel in hand. It takes everything in Dora not to scream, but she calms upon identifying the intruder as one disheveled Sepira, who seems to have had a similar dream.

What a twin thing.

"You look like shit," Dora laughs, "but that's nothing new."

"Speak for yourself, you fire hazard." The older twin sticks her tongue out and sits on the bedside. "I just… thought you were in danger. I could feel it in my bones."

"So you thought a shovel could break some." A pillow is thrown into a scowling face, which ceases to be so unhappy as soon as its person retaliates. "I absolutely love you, Seppie!"

"Unbelievable."

And then they are like children again, burning the night away one pearly grin, one irreparable pillow case, one downy feather at a time. The self-defense shovel is forgotten in the joyful reverie, the thought of death grows further and further away…

"Sa… o… _Sato-san_ ," Hana waves a hand in front of her face. "Do you prefer green or black tea?"

"Black," Mui automatically replies. She finally breaks from the memory and looks to her wavy-haired host, who has changed into a considerably more comfortable jumper. "Black would be good."

"Milk?"

"I... can afford it."

Hana peers up from her rather meticulous pouring method; that is, the drop-by-drop process, either because the teapot won't cooperate or her hands just fail to be on her side as usual. "Was that supposed to come out so sophisticated, or do you always talk like that?"

"I don't know, do you always take an hour to provide tea?"

"Ouch, you definitely have enough time on your hands to come up with something like that."

"Yes, because while we're on the topic of time—"

"All right, no tea then."

"Okay, I concede!" Mui finds herself rolling her eyes without any malice and smiling. This is almost like… "You remind me of someone I used to know."

"Is that why you were sitting by the window, looking into space, sighing like in those romance films?"

"You are such a spitfire! How have we not done this earlier?"

A look of self-loathing leaves as soon as it comes, smothering the almost-happiness. Hana sets down her clay utensils with the urgency of a widow setting her lover into the ground, forever.

"I have a hard time making friends, is all."

"Hm," the mixed child echoes, obviously not buying the reason. For all her sass and steadfastness, Hana was probably just as scared of _Muisou_ as the rest of them, but that shouldn't be much of a surprise at all.

Different is, as different does. It should stay that way, for everyone's sake.

 _That's wrong and you know it_ , some inner morality calls out, but she ignores it. Again.

They sit in silence for a while, simply staring at one another over their tea cups. More than they have it in them to admit, the girls find one too many similarities in the other, from the consistency of hair to the way in which they both curl up into themselves in the wake of bad feelings.

Finally, Mui turns to their unconscious ward. He is laid out on his side, so as not to irritate the bandaged wounds on his back, or in case he decides to throw up, white bangs casting soft shadows over his face. Though his lankiness suggests malnutrition, there are fine muscles running along his arms and calves, the only signs of health in a pallid being.

Without thinking, the dark-skinned fighter makes a move to fix his hair, but catches herself. Hana watches her even more intently now, eyebrows scrunched up.

"Do you know him?" she asks, slowly.

"No," comes the nearly _reluctant_ reply. What could this feeling be, this unnerving tug? "Not at all, no. I just met him today, and I only saved him from traffic."

"Was he really trying to… to die?"

Purple eyes shoot up in alarm, but the shoulders relax. Right, Hana is still a child; it must be the mature look about her and witty responses that distract Mui from acknowledging this. Wasn't she an orphan too? Confound age and everything it stands for; anyone can know loss, even the youngest of people. Since there is no easy way to talk about this, Mui taps into the honesty she reserves for child-kind.

 _Still a child. Just a child. They're all children._

"Sometimes, people are in a bad place," she states. "Not an actual place, but it might as well be one, like a prison or a closet. They may not know how, they may not know why, but they know that they just _are_ , that they've always been, and that they might always be. And… and sometimes—"

"Sometimes it's too much," Hana finishes. "Mom and dad, they…" This time, the hurt fully manifests in her stormy eyes, like a tree has been struck by lightning and the ground will never be the same. She casts a sombre smile to the bedridden boy and whatever hidden sorrows led him up to this point.

"I know why he wanted that," she continues, repeats, rinses. "I know."

A brown hand slides across the table; simple, calm, present. The girls really look at each other for the first time since the attempt, just a few hours ago, the near loss of a life, even if unfamiliar and strange.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mui asks. _I am here for you._

"That would be nice," Hana replies. _Thank you._

* * *

In another corner of their small world, the boy with the golden eyes and champion swing is having a bad day.

Or at least, he wishes it were that simple, because people recover from those.

A 'bad day' would've been easier to explain to his father, when he left the house without a farewell; his coach, after he almost broke his leg during a slide; his teacher, when he failed a math test and drew baseballs into the zeroes to compensate for the emptiness; his friends, when he couldn't meet their stares at lunch.

"Are you okay?" Kyoko asks, setting aside her homework. "Maybe we should take you to the infirmary. Did you go on your daily run?"

"Oh right, he does those," Nagi comments. "I forget that your brother is the only person who literally goes the extra mile."

Immediately, the strawberry blonde shuts the twin up with one fell swoop of an egg roll, shoved between indignant lips. "Yamamoto-kun?"

"I'll be fine. I just ate bad sushi this morning."

"Earlier you said that you didn't have breakfast though."

Crap. Of course Tsuna saw through his lies and exposed him, earning the concern of their other friends in the process. The boys had a staring contest then, some dumb assertion of premature ego. Takeshi internally groans as he looks away first, fixing a tight smile to his face.

 _Great._ Could his friend, for once, just turn off the perception and let things go? It was like dealing with a human polygraph.

 _Not like you're any better, bottling up everything,_ he reminds himself. _No better._

Luckily, they inquire no further. Half of the group, after all, was flustered over the absence of Mui; there was no time for him.

Fast forward, the bell rings before anyone can find the chink in his armor. Takeshi makes haste, sprinting out the door and into the rain, umbrella long forgotten in the classroom bin. Pellets strike his tan face harder the more he aimlessly runs from invisible demons.

How can he explain what bothers him, when he's not even sure what exactly _this_ is?

The only thing he knows for certain is that these moods are constant, episodes in which ailment cannot be separated from person; a reality riddled with heavy fragments of the temporary whole, like someone took his own baseball bat and hit a homerun upside his head. The familiar and happy grow increasingly frustrating and harmful, like nothing is easy anymore and nothing ever will be again.

His mother got like this sometimes, and he was always so much like her: soft, patient to a fault… unhappy.

So, here he is now, standing near the park slide, not bothering to remedy his soaked appearance. In fact, he encourages the rain to wash him away, arms opened to the gray sky. Dirt and stone crumble from beneath worn sneakers, bare earth coiling in an entrancing avalanche of brown coils.

And then a shadow falls upon him, but he turns to it of his own volition.

"Hello," the boy with blue and red eyes greets.

"Hello," Takeshi calls back. "Aren't you cold?"

"A little, but you look colder."

"I do?" He takes one good look at the visible outline of his shivering form, leering at him from his soaked shirt, and sighs. "I do."

"Do you have an umbrella?"

"I forgot it. Um, why are you out here alone?"

"Kufufu, I'm always alone."

"I'm…" The baseball star wrings his hands, uncomfortable all of a sudden. "I'm sorry about that. Do you need a friend?"

An owlish tilt to the head, smile parted by wet, plastered bangs. "Hm, I think we already are friends. I've been with you for a long time now."

"But I don't know you. Who are you?"

"Whoever you want me to be."

Within those words, Takeshi feels loosen inside, trailing from the collarbone to the soles of his foregone shoes. One, two tears escape his eyes, and he rubs his face, to make the inner rain stop, to invite sunshine and clarity.

"I w-want you to be okay," he murmurs, like he's speaking directly to some reflection of himself.

There is a tangible thought to the glimmer in the other youth's gaze, although what it is exactly, no one can be sure of, but the unmistakable laugh of a victor rings out into the playground. He crosses it and touches a cool, ephemeral hand to Takeshi's temple, and like that, detached from the midday lethargy, they float, they fly.

The stagnancy of fate is over.

* * *

Sawada Nana has never been one to pry into other people's secrets. Well aware that her husband could be someone anywhere between a stripper and the man with the codes, she chooses to live in a bubble for two and a broken half.

But the longer the world turns without justice, without that one particular secret uttered, Nana sees the end of her capabilities.

So, today, guilt breaks the holographic barrier, and she is once again in charge of something bigger than herself. The letter, from all those years ago, from a dead friend one too many times ignored, emerges from its pristine envelope covered in careless stamps of varying red shades. Minutes later, it drops onto the dining room table with a heaved gasp, and the mother urgently grabs her car keys.

 _Is it too late,_ is left unsaid.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry friends, I've had a terrible transition back to college for fall semester. But finally, I'm receiving the help I need to fight my longstanding, seven-year depression, and if anyone out there ever needs guidance or a good listen, I'm always here. I would really like to live in a world, some day, in which everyone feels comfortable in their own skin and unashamed to be themselves. Do not be apologetic for self-care!

As for this chapter, I was really afraid of putting it out there; it feels inadequate compared to the writings I've coherently done before, but I've received so much support, and I don't want to give up. So, here it is! In a sense, this chapter is an emulation of where I and many others have been, and still are in. The title comes from my favorite song, "The Kids Don't Wanna Come Home" by Declan McKenna.

Thank you to everyone new and old to my stories. Particularly, I warmly shoutout to **the aspiring cynic** and **Nazraana Ambereen** , who affirmed recently that what I publish is important. You are the kind of reader I write for, bless you dear.

If you like what you see, please check out my other OC-inserts, such as "The Inglorious Wonder Woman" (Harry Potter). See you all soon! —Eves


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